


And They Were Roommates (OMG, They Were Roommates)

by abstractelysium



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Chapter Notes include Content Warnings, Complete, Don't let the meme title fool you, Drunk Sex, Feelings Realization, Friends to Lovers, Internalized Homophobia, Iwaizumi Hajime is Bad at Feelings, M/M, Oikawa Tooru is a Mess, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:40:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 28,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27436726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abstractelysium/pseuds/abstractelysium
Summary: In their sophomore year of college, Iwaizumi comes home to a drunk Oikawa, and mistakes are made. When you've been friends for your entire lives, how much do you have to break apart before you finally fit together?A smutty, messy IwaOi college roommate AU; meme title hiding a lot of feels. Complete!
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru
Comments: 116
Kudos: 311
Collections: iwaoi





	1. Roommates

**Author's Note:**

> CW: Dubious/Implied Consent, because sex while drunk. (FWIW, they both want to, but shit's complicated, friends. Let's get messy.) Also, brief reference to vomit.
> 
> I used pieces of my own American university experience to fill in some gaps, so it's kind of a blended setting, but still mainly Japan.
> 
> Chapter One: Roommates (cuddle – girlfriend – argument – wednesday – bedroom – remember – terrified)

It begins at a sleepover at Oikawa’s house way back during primary school. The boys watch a scary movie together after dinner, and when neither can sleep from being too afraid of demons stealing them away in the night, they snuggle together in the same small bed. Feeling the warmth of the other’s body, and the calm slow breathing as they settle in together, helps both feel safe enough to finally drift off.

After that discovery, they cuddle often. On the couch, while one reads to the other about the latest rising stars of volleyball. On the bus, holding hands and talking excitedly about new techniques they want to try. Laying on top of each other watching Iwa-chan catching and training Pokemon, while Oikawa begs to have a turn. And of course at weekend sleepovers, their mothers exclaiming over how well they get along, how cute they are. Little boys sharing physical closeness, thinking nothing of it. Just good friends.

As they get older and more aware, it becomes a comfort thing. Oikawa climbing in bed to cuddle Iwa-chan when he gets sick and has to miss practice in middle school. Iwaizumi wrapping Oikawa up in his arms to distract him when he’s distressed and overthinking about volleyball. They’re close friends, so what does it matter if this is something they have to make the other feel better?

And yet, they both start to recognize their other classmates’ reactions. When the weird looks begin, from boys and girls, they stop cuddling publicly in an unspoken agreement. And suddenly, girls who used to tease the boys for being so close start _flirting_ with them instead. 

Their days of cuddling innocently together, even in private, are coming to an end, stifled by mounting peer pressure and social scrutiny. Iwaizumi starts resorting to minor violence when Oikawa gets stubborn or impossible, and finds this is apparently more socially acceptable. 

Also, most of the time, it’s the only way to actually _stop_ Oikawa once he gets in a certain determined mindset. 

Now, it’s their first year in high school, and today is a hard day – the day they lost to Shiratorizawa for the first time. Both boys are almost sixteen years old, and crushed by the weight of their disappointment. In the quiet club room at Aoba Johsai, Iwaizumi and Oikawa can still hear the harsh final whistle of the referee echoing in their heads, telling them it’s over. Can still see the ball falling on their side of the court, in hellish slow motion, with no one there in time to stop it. 

Iwaizumi slams his locker shut, angrily. Squeezes his eyes closed. He hears a sniff, and glances over at his best friend. Oikawa is crying almost silently, just a few hitching breaths giving him away. Tears spilling down his cheeks, not yet changed out of his uniform.

“Oikawa. You need to change clothes.”

“I don’t w-want to,” says the setter in a heartbroken whisper. He takes a shaky breath. “I d-don’t want to st-stop wearing this u-uniform.”

The wing spiker softens. Looks down at the teal number 8 on Oikawa’s chest. “I know,” he says, quietly. They are alone in the club room, for the moment. Iwaizumi reaches for Oikawa’s hand. “Hey,” he says. “C’mere.”

Oikawa doesn’t resist, and Iwaizumi pulls the setter into his arms. Holds him, while Oikawa’s sobs become louder, harder. It gives Iwaizumi the permission he didn’t know he needed, and his own tears let loose, all the frustration and effort and dashed hopes from the day spilling out. Oikawa squeezes his arms tightly around Iwaizumi’s chest. 

Finally both boys’ breathing calms, and they tentatively pull apart. Oikawa wipes a hand across his face, smearing the tearstains on his flushed cheeks. Iwaizumi reaches into his bag for a packet of tissues, offering one to his best friend first. 

“Come over,” Oikawa says, taking the tissue. “For d-dinner.” 

Iwaizumi nods, taking a tissue for himself. “Get changed, then.” Blows his nose.

They eat together, and wind up on the couch afterward. Watching something neither is really paying attention to. Oikawa’s head is on Iwaizumi’s lap. Iwaizumi doesn’t notice he’s playing with Oikawa’s hair until the setter takes his other hand to play with his fingers. 

Iwaizumi breathes, inhaling deeply. He feels safe, here. There’s something so simple, so right about just being here with his best friend. Cuddling like this. 

Sometime later, Oikawa goes still, and Iwaizumi realizes he’s fallen asleep. The movie has ended, so Iwaizumi turns off the TV and sits for a second. It’s late. He debates just falling asleep too, here on the couch, but doesn’t want Oikawa to wake up cranky and sore from sleeping badly. He sighs.

“Oikawa.” The setter doesn’t move. 

“Hey, Oikawa.” Still nothing. He shifts forward, shakes him gently. “Tooru.”

Oikawa stirs, and sits up. “Oh.” 

“C’mon, let’s get you to bed.”

Iwaizumi accompanies him, to make sure he makes it there. Watches him brush his teeth, change into pajamas. 

“Stay,” says the setter. “Stay here, with me.” Motions to the bed. 

Iwaizumi hesitates.

“There’s no school tomorrow, and it’s too late for you to go home, and the couch or the floor isn’t as comfortable, and…” Oikawa sighs. “And I just don’t want to be alone yet, Hajime,” he concludes. 

Something in Iwaizumi’s chest seems to twinge. “I’ll just call my parents quickly.”

Minutes later, he’s in a borrowed shirt and spare gym shorts. Climbs into the small bed, next to his best friend. Under the covers. Oikawa wastes no time pulling Iwaizumi in close, drawing the wing spiker’s head against his chest, leaning his cheek on his best friend’s temple. Oikawa’s hand rests on his back. 

The setter takes a deep, contented breath, before turning out the light. In the sudden dark of the room, as his eyes adjust, Iwaizumi realizes he can hear Oikawa’s heart beating steadily and unhurried against his ear.

“We’ll beat them next time,” Oikawa murmurs, quietly. “Crush ‘em...” Iwaizumi can hear in his voice that the setter is already drifting back to sleep. He smiles, just a little. 

Something deep in Iwaizumi’s mind rises to tell him suddenly that this is the last time they’ll ever do this, and he knows it’s true. Holding Oikawa close. Watching him sleep. Feeling the warmth of his best friend’s body against his own, Oikawa’s slow breaths brushing against the hairs on Iwaizumi’s arms. Every second seems precious, now. Painful. 

_This is different,_ he thinks. _Was it always like this?_ Takes a breath. 

Iwaizumi wonders if he’ll ever be able to feel this way about anyone else in his life. 

_This isn’t how friends are, you know,_ Iwaizumi’s brain nags him. _This is a lot more than a friendship._

He closes his eyes, just feeling the gentle rhythm of Tooru’s chest rising and falling. The room, he realizes, smells like Oikawa.

 _I’ll make sure we win next time,_ he thinks. _There’s no way I’m giving up knowing him, playing with him, being beside him. Even if I can’t have moments like this anymore._

Iwaizumi’s last thought as he drifts off is about how to make Oikawa smile again when they wake up.

~~~

A week later, Oikawa tells Iwaizumi that he has a girlfriend now. For the first time.

“It’s Morinoke Yuna from class 1-3,” the setter is telling him excitedly. “She saw my games and she knew she liked me so she came to see me in the gym and confessed.” He’s smiling. “She said I could call her Yucchan.”

Iwaizumi knows Oikawa too well – or maybe he’s just not in a mood to be kind – but it’s not one of Oikawa’s genuine smiles. There’s a smugness there, his _beat-you-to-it_ competitive streak bleeding through. 

Iwaizumi immediately hates the girl. Everything about her, although he doesn’t know her at all. 

“Congratulations,” he says.

A month after, Yucchan breaks up with Oikawa, annoyed about how much time he has to spend practicing volleyball. Iwaizumi feels relieved, until Shimamoto Akane from class 1-2 confesses, and becomes the new girlfriend. 

_No,_ he thinks. _Surely not._

After Akane-chan, Nagisa-chan takes the title for about three weeks, and then Vicchan from Johzenji, followed by Auri-chan from the nearby all-girls academy. 

And then Eijima Maya-san from 1-5 confesses to Iwaizumi, and asks to be _his_ girlfriend. And that’s when it finally, finally sinks in.

_I’ve been waiting for him, just watching him be with other people. Lying desperately to myself that it’s not tearing me up inside, every time. Stealing my happiness in our moments on the court. But this isn’t temporary. This is how it’s going to be forever, now, until he finds a girlfriend who won’t break up with him._

Iwaizumi politely turns down Maya-san and steels himself to see Oikawa during practice that afternoon.

“There you are, Iwa-chan! And here I thought, if Iwa-chan is skipping today, I’ll finally get away with extra serve practice.” 

“Shut up, Crappykawa, I’m only one minute late.” He hurriedly pulls on his practice jersey. “And the only reason I don’t ‘let’ you do extra serve practice is because you don’t quit for hours and forget to stretch and risk _hurting_ yourself, _dumbass_.” 

_Fuck me, I’m in love with him._

And he watches Oikawa’s concentration, his stillness, his fluidity, and his hands. The ball flies up, and with a grace and power Iwaizumi knows he’ll never quite be able to match, it slams into the floor on the other side of the net.

So he decides right then and there that he will never, ever, _ever_ tell him about any of this. 

~~~

And now, it’s five years later. Some fall evening, in their second year of college.

Iwaizumi hears the apartment door slam, and the familiar voice of his roommate wafts in from the hall – shouting, but not in greeting.

“… didn’t mean it like _that!_ Would you let me – No! I was saying… Can I finish my sentence?!” The door to the other bedroom closes, and the setter’s voice becomes slightly muffled. 

This argument sounds bad. Even from behind Oikawa’s closed bedroom door, Iwaizumi recognizes that frustrated huff in his roommate’s voice that means Oikawa has a headache brewing. 

He rolls his eyes. Oikawa and his girlfriend have been fighting all the time lately, and as Iwaizumi knows, that means they’ll only be together a few more days, or a couple of weeks at the most. It’s a pattern that he is getting more and more tired of, to the point that Iwaizumi almost feels sorry for every girl that Trashykawa introduces as his significant other. Each individual relationship in Oikawa’s never-ending parade has gotten longer since high school, at least – Iwaizumi will give Oikawa that much credit, though never _aloud_ – but the quality of girls hasn’t really improved, only his roommate’s apparent patience.

And, since ostensibly Oikawa walked all the way home from campus while still engaged in a very loud, public lovers’ spat over the phone… Iwaizumi would guess this relationship won’t survive the _evening_.

He sighs deeply, packs up his books and computer and slips out of the apartment to go finish studying at the library. 

~~~

An hour into his evening at the library, Iwaizumi’s phone lights up. A text from Oikawa.

“Dunno where you are, but I need a drink tonight. Join me?”

He sends: “Heard you fighting with Tomoko-chan, left for library. Essay due tomorrow.”

“Oh, I didn’t know you were home then. Sorry, Iwa-chan. Drinks on me?”

“I’ll be home later.”

“Boring. Fine.”

Iwaizumi considers retorting that his endless on-again-off-again relationships are boring, but thinks better of it. Deep down, Iwaizumi knows Oikawa is drinking because he’s hurting and doesn’t want to deal with it. One of his more annoying college habits, but. Understandable. 

Two and a half hours later, a little after midnight, Iwaizumi returns from the library. He hears loud music stretching out into the hallway and originating from their apartment. _Oh, for fuck’s sake._

Oikawa is dancing by himself to something energetic and full of guitars and shout-singing. He holds a half-empty bottle of whiskey in his hand. “Iwa-chaaaaan!” His face is red, his hair is a wild mess, and he is wearing jogger-style sweatpants and a button-down with all the buttons undone and the sleeves haphazardly rolled up and wrinkled. Iwaizumi recognizes the shirt he left in this morning, but Oikawa must have changed into the joggers.

Iwaizumi crosses to the speaker and turns the volume down to a normal level. “You’re drunk.”

“Yessss.” He grins and holds up two fingers, swaying slightly.

“Jesus Christ, Shittykawa. It’s a _Wednesday._ ”

“Meannn! I dunn have classsss till ‘leven t’morrow.” Oikawa ducks out of the way as Iwaizumi goes to pull the bottle from his grasp. “Nope nope nope! Getcher own bottle-ottle-ottle.” The setter giggles at himself. 

Iwaizumi frowns. “You broke up with Tomoko-chan, I assume?”

Oikawa’s lips pout. “Dunn wanna talka bowddit.” He takes another gulp of whiskey, and dances away so that he’s no longer facing Iwaizumi. 

“Hey, Tooru, put down the bottle, please.” They only ever use given names when they’re being serious. 

Oikawa sighs theatrically, and finds the cap. It takes him a second, but soon the bottle is closed and set down. “Diddit.”

Iwaizumi approaches his roommate, puts a hand on his shoulder. Moves his head so that Oikawa has to look him in the eyes. “You don’t have to tell me about it if you don’t want to. But I know you’re not okay, so I just want you to know that I’m here when you’re ready to talk.”

“Pfft. ‘m _fine,_ Iwa-chan. ’m happy.” Oikawa smiles, and Iwaizumi sees through it immediately.

“Tooru. Don’t lie to me.” 

Oikawa goes still, and for a second, he looks like he might cry. “Can never lie t’you, Hajime.” 

All at once, he’s right there, up against him, and Iwaizumi is unsure what he’s trying to do – is this a fight? He feels arms pulling him in, wrapping around his shoulders. _Oh,_ he realizes. _It’s a hug._ Iwaizumi feels his face flush red, but he returns it. Arms encircling his roommate’s abdomen. 

“’m not happy. Yer right,” Oikawa mumbles into his shoulder. “But I really dunn wanna thingka bowddit t’nite.” 

Iwaizumi absent-mindedly rubs Oikawa’s back. “Okay. You don’t have to.” He pulls away from his roommate to look him in the eyes. “But you’re going to bed.”

“Iwa-chaaaan, nooooo.” Oikawa makes a face.

“Come on. You’re going to have a hangover.” He walks to the kitchen, gets a glass of water, and puts it in Oikawa’s hands. “Drink.” 

The setter begrudgingly takes a sip. His eyes become mischievous again. “Will only godabed on _one_ c’dishun.”

Iwaizumi sighs deeply. “What’s your condition, Drunkykawa?”

His roommate pulls a face at this new nickname. Then takes a sip of water without breaking eye contact with Iwaizumi. “Cuddles,” he says with a smirk.

Iwaizumi’s face reddens again. “No.”

“Iwa-chaaaaan…”

“Absolutely not.”

“But we diddit allatime when we were liddle!” 

“You’re drunk, and we’re both twenty. No.”

“Then I’mmm not gunna godabed.” He slides past Iwaizumi and makes for the bottle of whiskey.

“No, you don’t...” 

It turns into a race, to see who can get to the bottle first. Oikawa gets there milliseconds before Iwaizumi, who crashes into him. The wing spiker’s body presses up against the setter’s as they scrabble for the bottle, Iwaizumi finally wrenching it out of Oikawa’s grasp. Oikawa huffs in frustration, but instead of grappling for the bottle, he leans into Iwaizumi in a sudden, awkward-but-sweet vertical snuggle. Which quickly becomes unsteady as Oikawa drunkenly sways, and Iwaizumi is forced to bring his free arm around to support his roommate’s weight. 

“Hajime.” Oikawa says quietly, earnestly. “Jussa cuddle. Please.” He looks at him with shining eyes.

Something softens in Iwaizumi’s face. He takes a moment just to look at Oikawa, leaning up against him. “Okay. Fine.” As his roommate lopsidedly beams at him, Iwaizumi adds, “Just until you fall asleep.”

~~~

And now he’s here, in Tooru’s bedroom, in the apartment they share. Watching as Oikawa takes off his unbuttoned shirt and drops it on the floor. Stumbles slightly. 

“Oi. Drink some more water.” Iwaizumi holds out the glass.

“Williff you lay down.” The setter points to the bed. 

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes and sighs deeply. Takes off his sweatshirt so that he’s only in a t-shirt and jeans. Climbs onto the bed, adjusting the pillow and looking up at his roommate. “Okay. Now drink the water.”

Oikawa does finish the glass, but spills some on his undershirt in the process. Iwaizumi ends up getting up to help steady Oikawa long enough to pull the wet garment over his head and take it into the bathroom. He makes Oikawa brush his teeth, put on a clean t-shirt. 

He lays down again at Oikawa’s insistence. His roommate then flops on top of him, temporarily knocking the wind out of Iwaizumi and making Oikawa giggle, much to his frustration. Calling him Shittykawa only makes the setter giggle more.

Eventually his drunk roommate finally goes quiet, and… they’re cuddling. Oikawa’s head on Iwaizumi’s chest. 

It’s nice. It has been a while, and it’s _nice_. 

“You could fluffle ma head.” Points to his hair expectantly.

Iwaizumi calls him a dumbass, and obliges. 

For a long while, they are just laying there. Iwaizumi is running his fingers through the setter’s hair, rubbing his scalp. Oikawa makes a contented sound and nestles in. 

The wing spiker hopes his heartbeat will settle down soon. 

Oikawa begins tracing abstract patterns on Iwaizumi’s chest with a fingertip. He reaches a spot where the fabric of Iwa-chan’s shirt has hiked up to reveal some skin, and Oikawa keeps tracing, but now on Iwaizumi’s bare stomach. The wing spiker inhales sharply.

“You tickalish, Iwa-chan?” There’s a devious smirk in Oikawa’s voice. His roommate says nothing.

With barely any pressure, the setter’s fingers travel up under Iwaizumi’s shirt. Still lazily tracing patterns, circling, and gently dancing over his stomach, ribs, chest. 

“Oikawa,” the wing spiker says, quietly. 

Then Oikawa’s finger brushes over Iwaizumi’s nipple, and Iwaizumi gasps involuntarily. “Hhh...”

The hand on Oikawa’s scalp goes suddenly still, and Oikawa shifts to look at his roommate’s flushed face.

“They’re sensitive.” Iwaizumi looks away, embarrassed. 

Oikawa is not sure what possesses him to watch his best friend’s face as he deliberately finds the now-erect nipple with his thumb, but Iwaizumi gasps again, a little louder this time, and he is lost. 

Iwaizumi shifts and tries to pull Oikawa’s hand out from inside his shirt, but the setter resists, and now they’re grappling in the bed. After a brief struggle, Iwaizumi manages to pin Oikawa, holding his arms down and hovering above the setter. Both boys are flushed and panting, their faces unreadable. 

“Oikawa,” Iwaizumi warns. “I’ll leave.” 

“Please don’t,” is the reply. 

For a long moment, they just stare. 

The wing spiker relents. “Okay.” He releases his grip on Oikawa’s arms and moves to lay down again. 

In a split second, Oikawa quickly twists, and suddenly he is on top of Iwaizumi, pinning him down. Holding his wrists. Pinning his thighs with his pelvis. He shifts his hips up slightly to adjust his position above Iwa-chan, and encounters friction. 

An unmistakable groan escapes from Iwaizumi’s lips. “Ngahhh! Ohh...” 

Oikawa glances down, and then back to his roommate’s face. Iwaizumi is now very red, and his mouth is open, trying to slow his breathing and heart rate. Eyes wide.

“Hajime,” says the setter, and his lips land on Iwaizumi’s. 

It begins a little tentatively, gently exploring. Barely caressing each other’s lips for the first time. Oikawa tastes like his minty toothpaste, and Iwaizumi is scared to go too far too fast, the disbelief of this moment just outpacing the thrill.

Then Oikawa gently moans into Iwaizumi’s mouth, and it’s like a switch has flipped. Their tongues meet as Oikawa releases Iwaizumi’s wrists, and Iwaizumi immediately pulls Oikawa down. Hands traveling into Oikawa’s hair, down his neck, and across his shoulders. More gentle moans. Oikawa responds in earnest, with hungry, urgent kisses. His body moves over Iwaizumi’s, trying to get even closer. Their hips grind together again, and both boys groan into the other’s mouth. 

“Off. Take – _hahhhh_ – take this off...” 

Between messy, lingering kisses and greedy hands, they manage to remove each others’ shirts. Oikawa’s fingers find and pinch a nipple, which causes Iwaizumi to moan loudly and bite the skin that connects Oikawa’s neck and shoulder. The setter whines and rolls his hips again, eliciting another delicious groan. 

Iwaizumi rotates so Oikawa is underneath him once again, and proceeds to tease the setter’s nipples with his tongue and fingers, until Oikawa gasps and bucks his pelvis, panting. Oikawa’s hand slides up into Iwaizumi’s scalp, grabbing and pulling at the hair on his roommate’s head. His other hand begins a journey over Iwaizumi’s back, and down, down along his spine, until he reaches the waistband of the wing spiker’s jeans. He hesitates for a second, and then Iwaizumi’s delicious ass is in his hand, where he can squeeze the supple skin he finds. 

Iwaizumi groans, surprised, and lifts away from Oikawa’s chest to look in his eyes. His heartbeat is loud in his ears, and breathing is difficult. Oikawa’s hand is still on his ass, and the setter’s lower back stretches wantonly, seeking friction.

A throaty whisper. “Hajime. Touch me.”

Oikawa grabs for Iwaizumi’s hand, and drags it down, down to the warm hardness he can feel through the setter’s sweatpants. Oikawa makes a frustrated sound, and rubs his roommate’s hand over himself.

“Mmm... please –” 

“Are you sure?” His heart is going to burn itself out, and his dick is _straining_ in these jeans.

“Yes, please t-touch me… I – mmmm!” 

Iwaizumi strokes Oikawa over his sweatpants, a few teasing caresses, and then he moves, lifting the setter’s pelvis to pull his sweatpants off, and his underwear, too. Discarding them on the floor, Iwaizumi unbuttons his own jeans. Oikawa is watching, hypnotized. His hand moves to his own dick, which twitches when the wing spiker’s underwear falls to the floor. 

They’re both naked. In Tooru’s bedroom. Iwaizumi climbs on top of Oikawa, straddling him. 

He looks glorious, face flushed, biting a lip. A slight sheen of sweat on his brow. His eyelashes so impossibly long. Eyes fixed on Iwaizumi’s, intoxicated with lust. 

Hajime can’t help kissing him, deeply and slow. Dragging his hand down between them, finding Tooru’s straining shaft and slick tip.

The noise Oikawa makes burns a hole in Iwaizumi’s heart, burying itself in his memory. 

Oikawa is whimpering and gasping between increasingly desperate kisses, as Iwaizumi spreads the slickness he finds all over the head with a thumb. 

“Ahhhh, _fuck,_ Hajime… I – ohhhh… I want...”

“Tell me,” he breathes.

“I want to – to – ohhhh! Hahhh, I want to touch you… please!”

“Then do it.” 

He helps Oikawa’s hand find his dick. It’s a little overeager at first, and Iwaizumi has to pause to help Oikawa find the right rhythm. When the setter gets it right, Iwaizumi matches Oikawa’s pace with his own strokes over his roommate’s flesh, synchronizing the rhythm and the sensations. Their pants and groans escalate.

“Ahh – haaahh – feels so _good_ … ohh! D-don’t stop, H-Haji-me…!”

“Mmm – haaahh... _Tooru_ … a little faster, oohhh, _yes,_ like that –”

Both have precum weeping over their roommate’s hand, as the boys drive each other closer and closer to the brink. They are locked into the other’s reactions, the pace, the pressure, and the sensations. Panting in tandem, matching whines and moans as their heartbeats chase each other. 

“I’m c-close, Haji– oh, _ohhhh_ –”

“ _Fuck,_ Tooru… uhhhnnn, yeah – do it… do it –”

“ _Haaah!_ Yes, I’m gonna – I’m gonna… I’m-mmm!” 

Oikawa explodes with a long, loud whine, and the sticky white of his cum flings across his chest and stomach. As the setter’s body jerks involuntarily with the waves of pleasure that crash through him, Iwaizumi thrusts into Oikawa’s hand, driving himself far enough over the edge, and he too comes in spurts, moaning and grunting with the cascade of sweet sensations. 

Iwaizumi collapses onto the bed next to Oikawa, spent and panting. Neither saying anything, just focusing on trying to find anything resembling words or coherent thought. After a long moment, Iwaizumi reaches over to brush a sweaty piece of hair off of Oikawa’s forehead, not yet breathing normally, with a smile.

The stickiness drying on his chest, Oikawa suddenly feels dizzy. And hot. When did it get so hot? His stomach roils dangerously. _Oh god, no…_

He moves with a desperate burst of speed, but does not make it to the toilet. Vomit lands on the bathroom floor, splashing onto the cheap tile. Collapsing to the floor and shivering, the realities of the evening begin to spin through Oikawa’s drunken brain, as he fights to reclaim any kind of settled feeling in his stomach.

Iwaizumi’s footsteps pad close enough to see. “Tooru,” he says, concerned, “are you okay?”

“Iwa-chan...” _Oh shit._

The second bout _does_ make it into the toilet, but the gross feeling that churns in his stomach immediately afterwards has little to do with the whiskey that he drank. Iwaizumi gently strokes Oikawa’s back as the setter finishes retching and rests his damp forehead against the toilet bowl pitifully.

After a few minutes of just sitting there in silence, Iwaizumi says, “I think the worst is done. I’ll clean this mess up, and we’ll get you washed and back into bed, okay?” 

Oikawa nods. Iwaizumi leaves to find a bucket and a rag and bleach.

Miserably, the setter thinks to himself, _what did I just do?_

~~~

Iwaizumi has class early the next morning, so he leaves a note saying “Text me when you’re up? Wanna know you’re okay.”

About a quarter to noon, his phone buzzes.

“up.”

“How are you feeling?”

“nrrrrrgh”

“Sounds like you’re missing class today.”

“yeh”  
“practice too, tell Hoshino-san for me?” 

Iwaizumi sighs and shakes his head. “Yeah, okay.” He hesitates over the screen for a second, then sends: “I’ll be home after, we can talk then. Okay?”

Oikawa doesn’t respond right away. Then, a few minutes later: “okay.”

When Iwaizumi gets home after practice that night, Oikawa is in his room, on his phone. Iwaizumi takes a shower, and when he comes out, Oikawa is padding around the kitchen trying to heat up some ramen. He still looks tired and wan, but there’s some color in his cheeks now.

“You’re eating, that’s good.”

“I’m finally hungry,” Oikawa says with a small smile.

“You look better than you did. Got some rest?”

“Yeah,” says the setter. He turns away from Iwaizumi to grab something. “I caught up on homework, emailed my professors, and um… Tomoko-chan texted me.”

Iwaizumi frowns. “She… she did?”

“Yeah, she wanted to talk. We might, um... meet up? Not tonight. But.” He closes the cabinet door.

“Oh.” Iwaizumi is unsure what to say.

They are silent for a long moment, Oikawa busying himself with food prep. Iwaizumi’s brain starts filling with uncertainties, and questions, and the inability to cross this unspoken gulf that seems to be in the air. 

Finally, he tries. “Um, Oikawa –” 

And is cut off. “Hey by the way, I was um – I was wondering if you could tell me what all happened last night?” Oikawa is only glancing at him, keeping his focus mainly on the ramen pot. “I don’t… um. I remember dancing, and you coming home, and then later I think I was throwing up. Um.” He shakes his head, gently, as though dismissing a fog. Looks at Iwaizumi, finally. “You probably ended up taking care of me, didn’t you?” He smiles a little guilty, apologetic smile.

A moment. “Y-yeah. Yeah, I… made sure you got to bed.” Iwaizumi frowns again. “You don’t remember… _anything_ after I got home?”

“Nope,” says Oikawa. Turns back to his ramen. “Except being sick in the bathroom… urgh, I definitely drank too much.”

“Yeah, I had to clean up after you.”

“Oh. I’m sorry, Iwa-chan.” 

A beat of silence. The pot simmers on the stove. 

“It’s fine,” says Iwaizumi. 

“I’ll make it up to you. Buy you dinner or something.” Stirs his ramen. “Maybe new knee pads?”

“Oh, yeah. Um. Sure.” 

They lapse into another silence. Oikawa finishes heating the ramen, finds a bowl, and transfers the contents. 

“Well, I’m going to try to eat this and watch something before bed.” He smiles at Iwaizumi.

His roommate stares. “Mmm. Take it easy.” And Oikawa leaves with his food.

Somewhere in the jumble of thoughts that swirl through his brain, Iwaizumi thinks, distantly, that it’s weird that Oikawa didn’t ask about practice.

~~~

Oikawa shuts the door to his room. Sets down the ramen. Deliberately faceplants onto his bed.

Thinks about screaming into a pillow. Decides against it. Grabs one anyway, to squeeze until his knuckles turn white.

He remembers. Everything.

 _All_ of it.

He’s terrified.

~~~~~


	2. Unresolved

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Dubious/Implied Consent, because attempted sex while drunk (I did promise messy).
> 
> Chapter Two: Unresolved (fight – freshmen – honest)

That night doesn’t come up again in Iwaizumi’s and Oikawa’s conversation, although the memories are on a near-constant replay in both their minds. Every night when Iwaizumi closes his eyes to sleep, he is tortured by Oikawa moaning his name, and the rough feel of his lips, the warmth of his hands. _He doesn’t remember, so it didn’t happen,_ he tells his resulting erection. And relives it anyway, in order to get some sleep. 

They busy themselves with school, and practice. They are voracious in their will to improve. But also, their captain notes, something is off. They are not as in-sync anymore on the court.

About two weeks later, Oikawa gets into another fight with Tomoko-chan, and in order to appease her, he takes her home. The ensuing make-up session gets a bit loud, and distantly, Oikawa thinks he hears the door to their apartment slam, but he is quickly distracted.

After Tomoko-chan leaves in the morning, Oikawa finds Iwaizumi making coffee in the kitchen before he leaves for class.

“Morning, Iwa-chan!” Oikawa smiles.

His roommate grunts.

“So articulate. Did you sleep well?”

“With the two of you making all that noise?” He angrily presses the button to brew the coffee.

“Oh, I didn’t realize you –”

“Didn’t realize I was home? In the apartment we share?” Iwaizumi is pissed.

Oikawa’s brow furrows. “Look, I’m sorry, Iwa-chan, I really didn’t know we were disturbing you...”

“She was _screaming_. I was trying to _study_.” The coffee machine burbles. “I had to leave my own apartment, _again_ , because someone couldn’t give me just a LITTLE warning...”

“I’m sorry, okay? She was mad at me and I had to… you know!” The setter blushes a little. “I don’t know why you’re blowing up at me, Iwa-chan. It didn’t used to bother you _before_.”

Iwaizumi rakes a frustrated hand through his hair. “You selfish asshole. Of COURSE it bothered me!” 

“What?”

“I have said nothing about you bringing girlfriends here because I was too polite, Tooru. But you keep _doing_ it!” Oikawa is speechless. Iwaizumi continues. “It’s like, when did you forget my name is also on the damn lease?”

“Why didn’t you say anything? Why, if you’re this mad?”

“I shouldn’t have to, Tooru! You’re my best fucking friend!” He slams a hand onto the countertop. “I’m tired of caring this much about you when you barely give a shit about me!”

The setter is silent for a beat. “Of course I care about you,” he says, bewildered. “And I _am_ sorry.” The coffee finishes brewing, and Iwaizumi turns away to prepare his drink. Oikawa is irritated. “What is this really about, Hajime?”

Iwaizumi won’t look at him. “Nothing,” he says. “Just… fucking _warn_ me next time.” Coffee in hand, the wing spiker picks up his bag and walks out the door. 

Oikawa is left stewing in the kitchen, as the door slams shut. 

For the rest of the day, Oikawa is in a foul mood. He makes it through classes without blowing up at anyone, but finds he has no patience for being jovial and charming with his fellow students. He declines his girlfriend’s requests to see him, citing fatigue. The setter tries to go for a run in the afternoon, but he ends up replaying the fight with Iwaizumi over and over in his head. In the end, he can’t focus enough on the run to settle into it, and gives up. 

When Oikawa gets back and finishes showering, his mood has not improved, and Iwaizumi is still out. The door to his room is open, and the late-afternoon sunlight is filtering in through the window, casting a warm glow over everything inside. 

Oikawa wanders into the empty bedroom. Looks around at the walls, the furniture, the floor. The cluttered-but-still-clean look of the room that has been Iwaizumi’s style in every bedroom he’s ever inhabited. The barest hint of his smell emanates from the air in here, and Oikawa notices it. He’s just standing there, seething. 

Iwaizumi’s words from the morning echo in his brain. “I’m tired of caring this much about you when you barely give a shit about me!” _We’ve been friends for over a decade,_ he thinks viciously. _How dare he?_

He looks at the bed, and remembers the feeling of Iwaizumi on top of him. The haze of alcohol and warm skin. His roommate’s greedy lips on his mouth, on his neck… The way his head spun. His mind reeling with so many questions while his body sought answers in every place Iwaizumi touched.

He licks suddenly-dry lips, and feels guilty and dirty and upset. That night is a mess in his memory; the tangle of feelings and impulses contrasted with literally _years_ of friendship and insults and looking out for each other and hours upon _hours_ of volleyball together from their shared youth doesn’t gel at all. 

_The most infuriating part,_ Oikawa fumes, _is that I don’t think I would take it back._

He sits down on the edge of Iwaizumi’s bed, and notices a rainbow glint. He traces it back to the source – the confiscated bottle of whiskey from the other night. The glass refracts the warm sunlight into a spectrum of colors on the far wall. _Huh._

He picks it up. There’s still a decent bit left in the bottle.

 _Was there something I was supposed to do tonight?_ Oikawa muses. _I don’t remember._ He opens the cap to fill his nostrils with the sweet burn of the whiskey. He figures it’s probably not important enough, if he did forget. 

_And besides, I had a shitty day. I deserve this._

He carries the bottle back with him to his own bedroom, and shuts the door.

~~~

A little over an hour later, Iwa-chan texts him. “Where tf are you?”

“Hello to you toooo, Iwa-chan”  
“Home why?” 

“6 pm. Practice gym.”  
“We promised to help the freshmen? They’ve been waiting”

 _Fuck._ Serve and spike drills. Sophomore senpai bonding, as it were. An unofficial practice, without the coach, just for the benefit of the two newest team members. So Oikawa never put it in his reminders.

“Shit shit shit I forgot. omw”

He arrives in the practice gym ten minutes later, pulling on his volleyball shoes and the practice jersey Iwaizumi throws at him.

“Finally,” says the wing spiker. Oikawa mutters an apology and begins stretching, while Iwaizumi has the two freshmen do a couple laps of diving drills to fill time.

Oikawa’s ears feel warm, and he glances at Iwaizumi, who isn’t watching him. _I’m still a little tipsy,_ he thinks to himself. Iwa-chan has always been able to read him like a book, but maybe he’ll be able to make it through this practice without anyone catching on. _I am The Great King, after all,_ he smirks.

When Oikawa is warmed up, he grabs the rolling ball basket and moves it into position. “Okay, Hayako-chan, Katoshi-chan! Time to learn how to do an accurate jump serve. Watch, please.” The eager freshmen line up, with Iwaizumi a little ways behind them. 

He grabs a ball, spins it in his hand. Waits for the other side of the court to come into sharp, pinpoint focus, the way it always does when he’s doing a perfect jump-serve.

Except this time, it doesn’t. 

Oikawa waits a few seconds longer, but the honed-in feeling evades him still. _Shit._

 _Fuck it,_ he thinks, _I’ve done this a million times, let’s just go._

He jumps, hits, and the ball lands exactly where the opposing team’s libero would be. The freshman are impressed, and start calling out excitedly. Oikawa smiles smugly, accepting their praise.

“Oi.” Iwaizumi is frowning. He points down at the back line of the court. “You stepped over. No good, dumbass.”

Oikawa makes a face, and walks back to grab another ball. “Okay, fine. _This_ is what I meant.”

This serve sails powerfully – just past the opposing back line. Out.

“Shit,” he mutters. 

“Don’t mind! One more!” calls Katoshi, and Hayako says, “Oikawa-senpai, nice serve!” 

Iwaizumi’s brow furrows.

The ball is once more in his hand, and this time, the setter is sure that necessary focus is returning. _Yes. Here we go._ With a majestic swirl of yellow and blue, the third jump-serve flies. 

And hits the net, held temporarily by the interwoven cords, before it falls to the floor with a bounce.

It’s completely ridiculous that Oikawa would mess up his famous jump-serve three times in a row. And he was always one to thrive under pressure, so it’s certainly not nerves. The setter tries to suppress it, but a tiny giggle forces its way out of him. Not a smirk, or a sound of frustration – an actual giggle, like he finds it funny. “Whoops,” he says.

It’s silent on the court. The freshmen are confused, but Iwaizumi has put most of the pieces together.

The wing spiker walks over to Oikawa, and examines his face closely. Squints at him. 

“My bad, Iwa-chan.” 

Iwaizumi can smell his breath. His eyes widen.

He turns to the freshmen. “Katoshi, Hayako – I’m sorry about this. Five more laps of diving drills. I have to talk to Oikawa. I’ll be back.” He grabs Oikawa’s arm with a bruising grip, dragging him off the court, toward the locker rooms and showers.

“Iwa-chaaan, my arm!” Oikawa complains, once they make it into the empty locker room. “What the f–”

“I can’t _fucking_ believe you.” The wing spiker hurls Oikawa around to face him, and the momentum is too sudden for Oikawa to react to in time. Released from his roommate’s grip, he stumbles, and is thrown to the floor. 

Oikawa laughs nervously, pushing himself up on a sore elbow. “Iwa-chan, what do you mean?”

“I can smell it on your breath, you fucking moron.” 

_Fuck._

“Tell me this second what it is that _possessed_ you to come to practice drunk, Tooru.” Iwaizumi towers over him, a pillar of barely-contained rage. Oikawa scrambles to his feet.

“I forgot, Hajime, I _swear_. I just had a little at home, to feel better, and I –” 

“And you came to practice anyway?” Iwaizumi is almost shouting now. “I thought you had finally figured out how to be a good senpai to your underclassmen after that bullshit in middle school, but apparently you didn’t learn it then and you still don’t _fucking_ know it now!”

Oikawa is pissed at that. The seething anger from the rest of the day comes rushing back. “I missed three fucking serves, Hajime! Don’t act like the goddamn _world_ is ending!”

“You’re a mess, Tooru! It is _so_ disrespectful to the freshmen that you aren’t taking this seriously. They are here to learn from you on a fucking night off. And you show up LATE and DRUNK, you selfish asshole!”

 _You selfish asshole._ It’s the same insult from this morning, and Oikawa is _livid_ , hearing it again. He grabs Iwaizumi by the shirt. “Don’t call me that!” Walks him backward with purpose. Slams his best friend into the nearest wall of lockers.

They are very close now. Oikawa is actually taller than Iwaizumi by a couple of centimeters, although Iwaizumi is somewhat more broad-shouldered. He looms over the wing spiker with as much anger as he can muster. Iwaizumi gets his hands around Oikawa’s wrists, the setter’s fists still holding tight to Hajime’s jersey.

“Let go of me.” Iwaizumi’s voice is low, a growl.

Instead of answering, Oikawa slams Iwaizumi into the lockers a second time, with a roar of frustration. 

“Aagh! What is your fucking problem?!” Iwaizumi squints his eyes closed against the pain blossoming where his skull bounced off the metal of the lockers.

Oikawa just holds Iwaizumi against the lockers, eyes locked on his best friend’s face. Both of their heart rates elevated. Breathing steady but hard. _What the fuck am I doing?!_ he screams at himself. _He’s right! I’m a fucking mess!_

It is then that Iwaizumi sees the tears gathering in his best friend’s eyes. His voice softens somewhat.

“Tooru.” Iwaizumi can feel the tension in Oikawa’s arms, pinning him against the lockers. “I don’t know what is going on with you lately, and I can’t help you deal with it if you don’t _talk_ to me.”

“Shut up,” says Oikawa, voice threatening to break. 

“I know you’re dealing with something, but you don’t have to do it all by yourself –”

“Sh-Shut up!” The setter grits his teeth in frustration. His fists shake.

“...if you feel like you need to drink to cope with whatever this is, I want to help you –”

“SHUT UP! Why do you care so much?!” 

Iwaizumi inhales, speechless. His heart stops, drops all the way into his stomach, sickeningly. 

Oikawa’s eyes are definitely brimming now. He tries to hide a sob inside a broken whisper. “Wh-why do y-you _always_ …” 

Whatever the rest of that thought was going to be, it is lost as Oikawa’s lips land suddenly on Iwaizumi’s, forcefully. Tooru is kissing him desperately, frustrated, like he’s trying to outrun a bullet train. After a second of surprise, instinct takes over for Iwaizumi, and he returns the kiss with dizzying fervor. Meeting him in desperation, tongues and teeth and lips and breath. 

Quickly, their hands are everywhere. Oikawa’s forceful grip on Iwaizumi’s shirt melts and slides up under his throat, along his thick shoulders, a fistful of his ass. Iwaizumi’s hands focus on bringing Oikawa as close as possible, body to body. His chest, his legs, his hips. Craving every point of friction, every warm place that the other can respond to.

It’s getting hard to breathe again.

Shirts go flying, and they’re back to groping each other milliseconds after. Oikawa’s teeth on Iwaizumi’s neck. Iwaizumi’s hand squeezing his ass. A thumb flicking over a nipple. A groan. A whimper. A gasp. The greedy race for more, more. 

Oikawa’s hand snakes into Iwaizumi’s shorts, and the wing spiker moans deeply, eyes falling shut. Oikawa is emboldened, pumping his hand over the sensitive skin.

“Hahh… _ohh_ – T-Tooru, w-wait –”

_...don’t think, don’t stop, don’t say anything, don’t ruin this –_

Oikawa drops to his knees on the hard locker room floor. Pulls his roommate’s shorts down and away. Grasps him firmly.

Wraps his lips around the head, and swirls his tongue around.

“ _Fuuuuuck..._ ” Iwaizumi bucks his hips, and Oikawa holds him down. Takes a long, slow suck, and then lavishes the length with his tongue. Pumps over it with a hand, coating the whole thing in saliva. 

Iwaizumi has forgotten how to breathe. He groans and his large hands find the setter’s head of hair.

Oikawa takes him in his mouth again, sucking deliberately. Slowly, but with a rhythm. He hears Iwaizumi’s hitching pants and breathless groans. He moans around the throbbing warmth, and his own dick twitches jealously. 

Tooru pulls as much of Iwaizumi into his mouth as he can, and he feels the tip push up against the back of his throat. 

Iwaizumi closes his eyes tightly, overwhelmed at the sensation. “Ohhhh, _fuuuuuuck_ – !” The resulting echo of his loud groan reverberates within the small locker room. Hearing it brings his reality crashing back into focus. 

The freshmen are probably finishing their diving drills in the gym. _What the fuck are we doing?!_

“Stop, Tooru, s-stop...” He holds Oikawa’s head still. The setter understands, and pulls back. Both take a second to catch their breath, watching the other. Oikawa wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. 

Iwaizumi seems to consider for a long moment, his brow furrowing, until he reaches a decision. He pulls himself back together, making a little noise as he tucks his – not small – erection into the waistband of his boxer briefs, and his shorts up over. Pulls on his bunched up shirt. “Stay here, I’ll be back,” he says. And leaves quickly.

Tooru stands, and his hands twitch, thinking about jerking himself the rest of the way off in Iwaizumi’s absence. But he doesn’t know how long he’ll be here alone, so instead, he wanders over to a sink to splash cool water on his face. He feels slightly dizzy, and it’s probably the whiskey again. He puts his hands on the sink’s edges to steady himself. 

Iwaizumi is back, and telling him to get his things. “I told them you’re not feeling well, and that we’ll redo this practice another time.” He looks like he’s choosing his words carefully. “They are coming in here to get their things, change, and leave. We are also leaving.” Iwaizumi finds Oikawa’s shirt, bag, shoes. 

A moment. “Hey. You okay?”

“I’m fine, Iwa-chan.” He’s not sure at all if that’s true.

Tosses the shirt to him. “Then let’s go.” 

~~~

Neither knows what to say as they walk back to the apartment, so they don’t talk. Oikawa nearly trips at one point – the ground is uneven, and Oikawa’s hand finds Iwaizumi’s arm to steady himself. Oikawa’s wide eyes land on Iwaizumi’s, and both look away a moment later, pulling apart. 

Finally the key turns in their apartment door, and now, here they are.

“I’m going to make us tea, and we’re going to talk,” says the wing spiker. 

Oikawa has a sudden urge to do something drastic. Kiss him, punch him in the face, scream, run out of the apartment. 

“Okay,” he says, choosing none of them. 

Oikawa’s heart is thudding away in his chest, waiting for his best friend to return from the kitchen. He can almost feel the blood pulsing through his veins, especially in his forehead, where the throb of it threatens to turn into a headache. He’s not dizzy, and he’s not sick, but he has no idea what this is going to be, what might happen.

Iwaizumi is steady, carrying two steaming mugs in his hands. Offers one to Oikawa, setting it down for him on the coffee table. He sits on the couch, a little distance from the setter, but facing in to him. 

Oikawa can’t look at him. His eyes fall to the steam rising in curls from the mug. He can feel Iwaizumi watching him. Waiting. 

_Why is he just sitting there?_

A long, silent moment.

_I can’t take this._

“I know you’re mad at me, Iwa-chan,” he says. Lifts the mug, but it’s still too hot. “So go on. Yell at me. Say whatever it is.”

Iwaizumi sighs. He sets his own mug down on the table. 

“I’m not angry,” he starts, and then amends, “...okay, I’m – I _am_ frustrated with you. And confused.” Takes a breath. “But I want to give you space to talk to me. I want to listen to you first.”

Oikawa wonders for a moment if he might cry, and the impulse leaves him as soon as it came.

Iwaizumi prompts him. “You’re not okay.” A beat. “So, talk to me. Tell me.”

“It doesn’t – you can’t just –” He huffs. “I don’t want you to –” 

“You put my dick in your mouth.”

Oikawa freezes. 

“What would’ve happened if I didn’t stop you in the locker room, Tooru?”

The setter cannot breathe. Cannot speak. Cannot look at him.

“Talk to me.”

The words abruptly tumble out of Oikawa all at once, messy. “I don’t know. I don’t _know,_ okay? I have a girlfriend. I don’t know!” His hands are out in front of his face, like they need to grab onto something. “I didn’t mean to – I just wanted you to shut up. I wanted you not to – not to say anything, I don’t know!” He turns to look at him. “You were mad! I was angry! I fucked up!”

“Okay,” says Iwaizumi, his voice still calm.

“Don’t look at me like that!” Oikawa feels the terror rising. “I got drunk! Okay, yes! I’m a selfish asshole, that’s what you said! And I – I – I don’t fucking _know!_ ”

“You don’t know,” the wing spiker repeats.

“I don’t know! I’m _sc-scared!_ ” And suddenly, Oikawa is certain he’s going to cry again. The lump in his throat means anything he says will give him away, and trying to fight it down only makes the feeling worse. 

“Okay,” says Iwaizumi, nodding, shifting forward by a few centimeters. “You’re scared.”

It’s the second time his roommate has given his own words back to him, and for some reason it makes him instantly furious. “Stop it!” he shouts. Looks for a pillow to throw at him. “You’re mad at me! So yell! Hit me! Something!” 

“Tooru,” he says. Ignores the outburst. “Tell me why you’re scared.”

“Why did you _let_ me?!” 

And that’s the question, isn’t it. Iwaizumi is holding onto his precious calm for all its worth, but that is the question that will break it. He takes a moment to breathe, considering what to say.

Oikawa sees him hesitating, and barges on. “You were so angry with me this morning, and it pissed me off. So I got drunk, Hajime. The selfish asshole! I got drunk, and I forgot about the extra practice, and I knew you’d be even _more_ mad if I told you the truth, so I thought I could just go to practice and get away with it. But of course I couldn’t, because you can’t – you wouldn’t – because I’m a goddamn selfish asshole! Who gets drunk to escape from my shit! A stupid fuck up! A worthless, shallow –” He has to pause here, to fight off the tears again, take a shaky breath. Sees Iwaizumi frowning, watching him. “I was drunk, Hajime. I don’t… I don’t know why I did it, but you were there, in my face, and I just...” He trails off, and the tears are right there now, more than a threat. 

“Tooru,” Iwaizumi says, somewhere between a warning and a promise.

Oikawa swallows hard, and exchanges the pain for fury, once more. “It was a stupid impulse, a _mistake._ I’m with Tomoko-chan. It was just a _fucking_ mistake.” 

It’s a flimsy excuse, but Oikawa wields it like a knife, hardening his features. The words sink into Iwaizumi, blood pooling everywhere they land. And his anger takes over. 

“A mistake,” he says, a growl. “That’s all it was, huh?” 

“Yeah,” the setter replies. Then, defiant. “Yeah.”

“A mistake you made _twice?_ ” 

Oikawa nearly gasps. _Fuck._ “N-no.”

“Yes.” Iwaizumi’s voice is dangerously razor-edged. “Do I need to tell you about the first time?”

Oikawa’s mouth has gone instantly dry. “No.”

“I think I should,” says Iwaizumi viciously. His voice is low, almost flat. “That first time you were drunk, you _accidentally_ pinned me down in your bed.” 

“Hajime...”

“So drunk, you _unintentionally_ begged me to touch you –” 

“N-no, don’t...”

“And then you _mistakenly_ moaned my name, again and again, as you came in my hand –” 

“No! Hajime!”

“But it’s all a big misunderstanding, because you have a goddamn girlfriend _you don’t even like!_ Because you just decided it didn’t happen!” Iwaizumi starts to raise his voice, and takes the effort to bring it back down. “Today – whatever this is – was an _escalation_ , Tooru. And I wonder if that’s why you wanted a fucking taste, because you can’t tell me you don’t _remember_ this time.”

The desperate lie is slipping out of the setter’s grasp. He holds on for dear life. “I didn’t – I wouldn’t –”

Iwaizumi’s anger has melted, and all that’s left behind it is pain. The mess inside his heart. Years of it. “Oh, be _fucking_ honest, Tooru.” His dark eyes hold so much, and they are wounding Oikawa, breaking every last defense.

The tears fall. Oikawa cannot hide from his best friend, and never could. 

“I... I remember,” he whispers. “I remember everything.”

Iwaizumi closes his eyes. The confirmation is a bitter victory, and it hurts, deeper than he expected. “I thought so,” he murmurs.

They sit for a long moment, in the tattered, broken silence, on the couch. Oikawa cries, and Iwaizumi is too proud and too stubborn to say anything yet. All of the voices inside Oikawa’s head are screaming.

“You l-let me,” the setter says. The words are leaden.

Iwaizumi’s eyes open.

“It was wr-wrong, and you didn’t st-stop me,” he says, with venom building underneath it. “Why can’t you let it be a f-fucking mistake?”

“What?”

“You did it t-too, Hajime.” Oikawa’s lip quivers, but he holds firm. “You – you _c-came_ too.”

The wing spiker’s breath leaves his body. “I did,” he says.

“Why?”

“Why?” Iwaizumi echoes, incredulous. Hysterical. “You know,” he says.

“I don’t.”

“You –” Iwaizumi is standing on a precipice, and he knows Oikawa won’t be satisfied until he jumps. _Fuck everything._ “I liked it,” he whispers, from behind his teeth.

Oikawa’s lip twitches. His face is unreadable.

Iwaizumi can’t stop. “It doesn’t have to be wrong,” he tries. 

Oikawa says nothing.

“And it… You said it was a mistake. But it. We don’t have to. Call it that.” He’s losing him. He reaches out a hand, toward the setter. “Tooru –”

Oikawa moves back, flinching away from his touch. 

Iwaizumi’s hand drops.

His roommate looks at the full mug of tea he has yet to drink. Sniffs. “It didn’t mean anything, Hajime.” 

_Don’t. Please._

“I already told you. It was a fucking mistake.” 

_Please god. No._

“It meant nothing to me, and – and I never want to again.”

Iwaizumi cannot breathe. He wonders, suddenly, wildly, if the air in this apartment has always felt so claustrophobic, stale. He can’t be here. He can’t stand another second of this _air_ , of this moment.

“Okay,” he hears himself say. He stands.

He grabs his phone. Wallet. Keys. He’s not even sure what’s in his bag, but it’s in his hand. It doesn’t matter.

He pauses at the door. Oikawa just stares at him, empty.

“I can’t,” he says, like that’s an explanation. 

And he leaves, pulling the door shut behind him.

~~~~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big oof, friends. Love your comments, so please leave me one!


	3. Apart Meant

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Panic attacks/Anxiety.
> 
> Chapter Three: Apart Meant (air – fine – diner – three)

Iwaizumi has had two panic attacks in his life, to date. 

The first was that time he got lost at a festival at age 6. There were so many people, and cherry blossoms, and all the adults suddenly looked like big strangers, and his mother was utterly gone. He felt the air leaving his lungs faster than he could pull it back in, and he sat down in the street and closed his eyes as tight as they would go and screamed and screamed until he was hoarse and his mother found him and held him, shaking.

The other time was after Oikawa’s knee injury in their second year of high school. The way Oikawa told everyone else he was fine, not to worry. The truth of the pain etching lines in the setter’s face, where Iwaizumi has always been able to read him. The way it all felt so serious, and the fear that Oikawa would have to stop playing for good. The air in the gym became cloying, but he held out until Oikawa was safely on his way before he tore off, desperately seeking out any space away from people, gasping for air like a stranded fish, helpless and cold on a gross tile bathroom floor. 

Tonight makes three.

The night is cool and windy, but that doesn’t make it any easier to breathe. Why is there so little oxygen? He’s trying to run, and he’s not sure why. 

He’s lightheaded, and there isn’t any _goddamn_ air. 

_Where am I going?_

~~~ 

Oikawa never hears the door to their apartment reopen that night, but he wasn’t really listening for it. So it’s fine.

In the morning, Iwa-chan isn’t there. So he guesses that the wing spiker didn’t come back. That’s fine too.

He’s also not there during the break Oikawa has between classes, when he usually is. But, Oikawa finds evidence that he _was_ in the apartment, because some of his things are missing. Oikawa supposes he came back to shower and get some clothes. 

It’s whatever. It’s fine.

He doesn’t show up to practice that evening. Oikawa frowns.

“Iwa-chan isn’t here?” he asks Hoshino-san, the captain.

“You haven’t seen him?” says the senior, brows knitting in surprise. “I thought you were roommates.”

“We are.”

“Oh,” he replies, watching the freshmen pull out the equipment. After another moment, Hoshino-san shrugs. “I guess he’s studying or something. Just remind him when you see him, yeah? Coach will be pissed.”

“Hmm,” Oikawa hums, noncommittally. He thinks about texting Iwa-chan.

Okay, it’s unlike him. But… it’s fine. 

Maybe he’s just. Whatever. It’s _fine_. 

He puts his phone away.

After Iwaizumi isn’t there for the third practice in a row, Oikawa stops getting asked about his best friend’s whereabouts. 

Oikawa uses volleyball to forget about it, like he used to all those times in high school. An old, bad habit, but a favorite. Everything else falling away. Staying for two hours after everyone else is done. Three hours. Six.

Again, it’s fine.

The apartment is too empty and too quiet, so it’s better. He tells himself. 

He skips a class one day, accidentally. He’s hyperfocused and doesn’t even notice until after it’s over that he should have left two hours ago for lecture. It’s fine. After that, he skips more classes, intentionally, telling himself he doesn’t need to go, he would rather be on the court anyway. _It’s fine,_ he repeats in his head. 

If any of his teammates notice, they do not comment. Only one of them would have, anyway. 

Oikawa’s brain starts manifesting Iwaizumi to yell at him in his dreams. To tell him he’s doing too much, and working too hard. Sometimes in his dreams Iwa-chan shouts and punches him, but other times he admonishes softly, hands on his face, those dark eyes so close to his own. Oikawa wakes feeling annoyed and unsettled, and the apartment is continually empty. When he doesn’t want to sleep, he goes to the gym. 

Then Tomoko-chan finds him there, one evening when he’s drenched in sweat and she’s yelling. “Enough is enough, you’ve been ignoring me all _fucking_ week and I’m sick of waiting for you,” she screams, and leaves. 

He deletes her number. _It’s fine._ And then he starts on another round of setter drills.

He thinks about drinking one night, but somehow he can’t face it. He goes to the gym instead.

After a week of no Iwaizumi at practice, he starts to worry that he’s never going to come back. That this is his fault, and he should know why. 

That nothing, in fact, is fine. And won’t be, ever again.

_Maybe I just need to hear him say it,_ he thinks, out of nowhere. He puts the volleyball back in the basket and looks for his phone.

~~~

Iwaizumi sits in the off-campus diner, waiting for his food to arrive. It’s not a great meal, but Ujida-senpai from his kinesiology class has been kind enough to put him up on his couch for the past several days, so the least he can do in return is not dirty his kitchen and not eat his food. It’s supposed to be temporary, while he figures out whether he’ll be able to handle going back to his apartment. And he’s looking forward to eating something filling and warm, after the week he’s had. Stress does a number on his appetite.

Since that first night, there have been two more panic attacks in the library that no one saw, and one on the floor of Ujida-senpai’s bathroom. That last one _might_ have been overheard, actually, but his temporary housemate hasn’t said anything so far.

He decides to order something to-go for Ujida-senpai, to leave as a thank you, and starts to puzzle over what he might like.

Iwaizumi wonders why he’s hearing a weird, cheerful jingle repeating over and over, and then he remembers that’s his ringtone. It was selected forever ago and promptly forgotten about, because no one ever calls him. He scrabbles for his phone. _Who in the hell._

The screen is lit up with Oikawa’s name. 

His heart judders dangerously in his chest, and he rejects the call.

It immediately starts ringing a second time. _Fuck._

Iwaizumi almost shuts it off again, but his brain nags that some form of this conversation was bound to happen eventually. Running from it will probably only make everything worse. 

_Oh god, it has to be now._ He takes a deep breath.

“Oikawa.”

“A week, Iwa-chan. You skipped practice for a whole _week?!_ ” The setter is on a rampage. 

Iwaizumi grunts an affirmation, too surprised for actual words. He was expecting ‘are you still alive?’ or maybe ‘can I sublet your room’, not this apparent tirade about _practice_.

“I can’t believe you. The captain even asked me where you are. You aren’t injured. You aren’t lazy. You better be sick, and nearly better by now, Iwa-chan, because I noticed you came and got clothes when I wasn’t home, so I –” 

“I’m not going back, Oikawa,” he says.

“Bullshit,” says the setter, not even pausing. “You’ve been a player your whole life, and we’ve been on the same team since middle school, and I’m not going to let your – our fight – your temper tantrum – _whatever_ this is – stop your promising future in its –”

“I quit,” he says.

There is silence on the other end of the line.

“I’m not on the team anymore. I talked to the coach four days ago.”

After a long moment, Oikawa says, “No.”

Iwaizumi feels the muscle in his jaw clench. “What do you mean, no?”

“I mean, no. You’ve _always_ played volleyball. You can’t just quit.”

“I can, and I did.”

“Bullshit,” says Oikawa, and then again. “Bullshit.”

“Oh, my god.” Iwaizumi fights to keep his voice low. “You really don’t get it, do you?”

“It’s volleyball, Iwa-chan. What is there to get?”

_Oh Jesus, I’m going to make a scene in this diner,_ he thinks, glancing at nearby tables. “Tooru.” He takes a breath, willing his heartrate to slow. “It wasn’t about the game anymore, for me,” he tries.

“...but we’ve _always_ –”

“ _Yes_ ,” he interrupts. Pleads with everything in the universe not to have to say it. “It was _you_ , asshole.” 

There’s no response.

Then. “Oh.”

Iwaizumi says nothing, partly because there’s so much to say, and partly because there’s nothing left. 

Over the other end of the line, Iwaizumi can hear it dawn on Oikawa. “You’re really not coming back,” he says.

Iwaizumi wants to cry. 

“Yeah,” he grunts.

“Oh my god,” says Oikawa.

Iwaizumi lets them sit with that for a second. He doesn’t really trust himself to speak.

After probably a minute of silence, he has to break it. “I, um. So I need some, uh, some space. For a while. Figure some things…” – he takes a deep breath, which barely helps – “figure some things out, and I’ll, um –”

“But I don’t want that,” Oikawa says. 

Hajime’s stomach drops. 

The thing is, he can’t tell, through the phone. For the first time, Hajime wishes he could see his face. To know. 

He’s absolutely terrified. 

Before he can breathe, he hears, “I don’t. You’re my _best_ friend, Hajime.” 

And it’s happening, again. The panic, rising, collapsing his lungs from the bottom up. The air giving up on him and fleeing.

“Fuck you.” He heaves the words from his mouth, using up some of his precious oxygen. “Fuck you.” He feels wild and unhinged.

“Hajime –”

“No, _fuck_ you. You d-don’t – you don’t get to decide that now.” He can feel his own heartbeat somewhere beyond his chest, like it’s left him behind.

“I just don’t want us to –”

“FUCK YOU,” he roars, and that was too much too loud _there’s people staring oh shit oh god fuck, fuck_

He can’t, he can’t do it, can’t be here. The walls are too small, and there’s never enough fucking air. 

He whispers, with the last of his resolve, “You have no right –” and manages a terrified, shaking breath. And because he cannot help himself. “Go h-home, Tooru,” he fights out. “Practice ended forty minutes ago.”

“Haj–” 

But he hangs up, and _runs_ for the bathroom.

~~~

Five days pass. 

It’s so much time, and not nearly enough. The days drag so slowly that they fly.

Iwaizumi starts to ponder the benefits and necessities of a therapist, or maybe medication. An internet search teaches him about the usefulness of breathing exercises, which he is skeptical about, but practices anyway, when he’s alone. He’s not sure it’ll be replicable in a crisis, but he’s tired of just _waiting_ for the next time his lungs betray him. There haven’t been any more panic attacks since the diner, but the threat feels much more ever-present. It’s irritating and makes him feel defenseless, even just moving through the world. Even with how much he goes out of his way to avoid anywhere and everywhere he knows Oikawa will be. Ujida-senpai tells him one night that he looks like he’s itching to rip the head off a stranger in one go.

Iwaizumi just grunts in response. He does this a lot, lately.

At four minutes before three in the morning, Oikawa calls him.

Iwaizumi wakes with a start, and punches the ‘reject call’ button with an angry finger.

He waits for a second, expecting a rush of panic. When it doesn’t come, and the dark silence of the room lingers, he starts to close his eyes.

The ringtone sounds. Oikawa again.

He rejects it, and opens their texts.

“i’m asleep fuck off”  
“don’t call me again”

He types out: “bother someone else if you’re drunk” but then deletes it, turning the phone facedown.

The silence returns. It occurs to Iwaizumi, through his bleary half-asleep brain, that he could turn the phone _off_. But then he remembers his alarm for morning lecture, and just hopes Oikawa will take the hint from his texts. He starts on a breathing count exercise, just in case.

Iwaizumi supposes he drifts off, or at least starts to. The phone reads 3:17 AM when it rings again.

Iwaizumi rejects the call immediately, but frowns at the screen, as it now shows a bubble with _Missed Calls (3)_.

His phone rings again. A fourth time. He slams his thumb over the green ‘accept call’ button.

“Dammit, Oikawa, I told you to stop –” 

“H-Hajime.”

And he freezes, blood running cold. Tooru is crying, and even through the phone Iwaizumi can hear that he’s in tremendous pain.

“I f-fucked up, Hajime. I d-didn’t l-listen.” He takes a shaky breath, punctuated by little hisses through gritted teeth. “It’s m-my knee.”

“Where are you.”

“The practice gym… I can’t p-put weight on it, Hajim– _ahhhh!_ ” A cry of pain that turns into a sob.

“Stop trying to move. Stay there.” He finds his shoes. “Don’t hang up. Give me three minutes.” And as soon as he’s out the door, he’s sprinting.

~~~~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The doubts of the character (regarding the benefits of breathing count exercises to disrupt anxiety) are definitely not shared by the author! They’re SUPER useful for me, and I recommend you seek help from a mental health professional if that’s something you might need too.
> 
> I am so delighted that you all are enjoying - please, keep letting me know what you think!


	4. Necessary

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Major Character Injury; references to panic attacks/anxiety
> 
> Chapter Four: Necessary (home – underlying – permission)

The on-campus 24-Hour Emergency Health Center has dim, buzzing lights, a tired, overworked staff, and no specialists. But they have to start here and get a referral, in order for the university’s legal liabilities to be satisfied. Just checking in takes ages, and both boys are too full of anxiety to talk while they wait endlessly. 

It does occur to Hajime that the last time Oikawa had a career-threatening injury, in the same damn knee, he had a panic attack. And he keeps waiting for the feeling to overwhelm him, for the oxygen to abandon him, but... it doesn’t happen. He just keeps glancing at Oikawa, who glances back, anxious and visibly tired. Iwaizumi tries pacing a little, just to make the time go faster, but Oikawa says his name, and pats the empty seat, so Iwaizumi returns to sit beside him.

There isn’t time or space yet for all the ‘you should have known better’s or ‘what were you thinking’s, because Iwaizumi is preoccupied by the way Oikawa is making him feel necessary. The lines on the setter’s face where Iwaizumi can read his pain get a little smoother when Oikawa is looking at him.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he says, at one point, murmuring so quiet and low that Iwaizumi almost doesn’t catch it. 

An eon of waiting, and finally Tooru’s name is called. After the initial interview, and more waiting, he is referred to a Dr. Takezawa, with a sports medicine and orthopedics clinic across town. He is also given a brace, some painkillers and crutches.

Hajime’s major is actually sports medicine, so he memorizes everything the emergency team say, knowing Oikawa is probably too tired to pay attention the way he should. Throughout the consult his blood is buzzing with adrenaline, but he keeps stealing glances at Oikawa to forget about it.

When they’re finally free to go, Iwaizumi frets over the way Oikawa tries to move too fast with the crutches, the way he looks like he hasn’t slept in a week, the way the brace might be too loose or too tight, and, inside his head, the fact that he’s going home with his roommate for the first time since… since _everything_. It’s almost 7 AM, and the sun has risen high enough over the campus rooftops to remind Iwaizumi of all the things he thought today would be when he fell asleep at Ujida-senpai’s last night. 

It won’t be any of those things, now. He’s relieved and unsettled in equal measure.

Iwaizumi is grateful that their building has an old, shitty elevator, because he nearly starts sweating imagining Oikawa’s weary body and unsteady crutches trying to fight their way up the stairs. On the ride up, Iwaizumi notices how utterly exhausted Oikawa looks. 

“When was the last time you ate?” he asks.

“What kind of question is that, Iwa-chan,” says the setter, too tired to really muster up enough irritation in his tone. “I’m perfectly capable of feeding myself.” 

“That’s not what I asked,” he persists. “I know you’ve been overdoing it again, and I know what you’re like when you get that way. When did you last _eat?_ ”

Oikawa sighs, and all pretense and fight leaves him. “Lunch yesterday,” he mumbles. 

Iwaizumi is ready to go off on him, but Oikawa looks so small and fragile, hunched in the corner of the elevator, leaning precariously on his crutches. His eyes blink at Iwaizumi too slowly as the elevator dings for their floor.

“Dumbass,” Iwaizumi says, with no malice. “Then food is the first thing we’ll worry about.” Iwaizumi begins to ponder the usual things in stock in their shared kitchen, and how many of them Oikawa is likely to have readily available for various simple recipes he can whip up. _I may need to go for groceries,_ he thinks to himself. Adds it to a mental checklist.

They navigate down the hall, and Iwaizumi pulls out his keys. He shoves aside a fleeting thought about the times he snuck back here, when he knew Oikawa was gone, to grab clothes or books and make an escape before he could be caught. About stale air and the thick silence of absence, of unsaid things that hang too heavy in the shadows on the walls. His hands barely shake as the key fits in the door. 

And then, he’s home.

“We’re home,” Oikawa breathes, and Iwaizumi turns to him, frowning.

Just in time, too, as Oikawa sways on his feet in the entryway, and Iwaizumi can see he’s going over. In a fraction of a second, he’s there, catching the setter and steadying him. “Woah, woah, woah...” 

“I’m fine,” Oikawa says automatically, but his eyes are too wide, and his one weight-bearing foot is not truly stable. Oikawa’s brow furrows, and his focus is somewhere beyond Hajime’s face. “I’m dizzy,” he admits.

“You have no adrenaline left, dumbass,” says his roommate, masking the fear in his voice with irritation. “And you haven’t eaten or slept.” He holds Oikawa up, extracting the crutches from him. “Drop those. Come here. Lean on me,” he commands. Oikawa throws a heavy arm over his shoulders, and complies, letting Iwaizumi take the burden of balance from him. 

He walks them over with slow steps to the living room couch, and carefully eases Oikawa down onto it. “Stay there,” he admonishes, as though Oikawa were capable of fleeing. “Don’t pass out.”

He hurries into the kitchen, finding a glass and filling it with water from the sink. He sets it on the counter and briefly digs through the cabinet where they keep pantry items. He is predictably annoyed about how little upkeep Oikawa seems to have done in terms of food supply in Iwaizumi’s brief absence, but they will have that fight another time. Toward the back of the shelf is a box of old protein bars that both of them tried a few weeks ago, but neither of them really liked. It’ll have to do.

He carries the water and one of the protein bars in and sits next to Oikawa on the couch. “Drink this. Slow sips,” he tells the setter. Holds out the glass. “Do you need me to help you?”

“I can drink _water_ by myself, Iwa-chan, stop babying me,” he complains, and takes the glass from him. 

Iwaizumi watches him drink slowly, and does his best not to roll his eyes when he watches some of it escape from the glass and miss Oikawa’s mouth. Iwaizumi turns instead to the protein bar, opening it and pulling a piece off, before he holds it out for Oikawa. “Eat this.”

His roommate takes it and starts to chew. “Oh, I hate these,” he mumbles in between bites, scrunching his nose. “So gross, Iwa-chan.”

“You’re eating this whole thing, so shut up,” he says, pulling off another bite for Oikawa. 

The setter exhales a tiny huff of air, but says nothing.

Eventually, the protein bar disappears, and Iwaizumi coaches Oikawa through more sips of water, until the setter’s fingers are a little steadier. “Still dizzy?” he asks. 

“No, I’m okay I think,” says Oikawa.

Iwaizumi studies his face for a moment. “You still look kind of pale to me. I don’t want you to try getting up yet.”

“Not my mom, Iwa-chan.”

“I can call her and tell her what happened, if you want,” Iwaizumi threatens. 

Oikawa shuts right up.

Iwaizumi stands. “Okay, I’m going to make breakfast, and you’re going to stay here. Once you eat some more, we’ll talk about letting you move around.” 

Oikawa mutters some weak complaint under his breath, pouting, but Iwaizumi is already moving towards the kitchen, and going over a checklist in his head, to keep his thoughts in order. _Make an appointment for Tooru with Dr. Takezawa. Make sure he gets some sleep. Email his professors, and text the volleyball captain. Check what food is in the apartment. Maybe go for groceries._ He notices the dust that has settled on several surfaces, and adds _Clean the apartment._

He pauses with the fridge door open, realizing with a slight frown that all of these mental checklist items have been for Oikawa. He glances over toward the living room. He has some things to do for himself, as well, now that it’s clear his day will be given over to this. _Email my professors,_ he thinks. _Text Ujida-senpai._

_I’m staying here,_ it dawns on him. He hadn’t even thought about leaving Oikawa, going to class, running away from this. And no panic so far, either.

He closes the fridge door. _Well, it’s too soon,_ he reasons. _There will be plenty of time to think beyond ‘right now’ once things calm down._ All he knows for sure is he’s needed, for the time being, and that’s too important. 

Although Iwaizumi’s suspicions about Oikawa not restocking their kitchen properly in his absence are confirmed, with some creativity breakfast is cobbled together and brought out to the living room, where the boys eat together. Iwaizumi watches carefully for any more dizzy spells or other telltale signs of trouble, but Oikawa does actually seem to be perking up somewhat by the end. The rest of the water in the glass makes it into Oikawa’s mouth in steady sips, along with the first dose of painkillers, and Iwaizumi starts to feel more reassured that Oikawa won’t faint immediately. He’s watching him almost constantly.

“You feeling better?” he asks.

“Such a worrywart, Iwa-chan,” is Oikawa’s reply. It’s soft, but it sounds more like one of Oikawa’s usual quips than anything else he’s said this morning. 

Iwaizumi makes an annoyed face at the setter, but is privately relieved. “Alright. I’ll get your crutches.” 

Oikawa yawns, instead of speaking.

The setter is stable on his crutches as he rises from the couch now, but Iwaizumi stays by him just in case. Iwaizumi helps his roommate into his bedroom, and tries very hard not to think about the last time he was there. Helps Oikawa out of the gym clothes he’s worn since probably yesterday. Into fresh clothing that should be suitably comfortable to sleep in, even with the brace. Tries not to think about the warmth of Oikawa’s body, close against his own, while he helps him balance enough to change.

_I do this too often,_ he thinks. 

Oikawa obeys his requests silently, letting himself be taken care of. His weariness is making itself known again, and although the danger of fainting may be banished for now, the setter’s sleep debt is coming to collect. Oikawa’s body is soft and pliable for Iwaizumi, helping him around the room, onto the bed. Iwaizumi can’t dwell on it. He arranges the pillows to elevate Oikawa’s knee.

“We should ice it, too,” he says, frowning at the swollen joint resting atop a couple pillows.

“Mmm,” hums Oikawa, shifting comfortably on the mattress. It’s not really an answer, but Iwaizumi bites his lip and makes the decision for him.

_You just don’t want to stop touching him,_ some dark part of himself taunts. He shushes the voice in his head and opens the freezer anxiously. 

Ice pack wrapped in a towel and in his hand, he returns to the room. Of course, Oikawa is asleep. 

He sighs to himself, the chill from the ice pack seeping into his palm. Watches Oikawa’s chest rise and fall slowly, his mouth slightly open. Iwaizumi tells the taunting voice in his head that there’s nothing wrong with just watching him sleep for a minute, making certain he’s okay, that the knee is properly elevated. 

The growing numbness in Hajime’s hand makes him wonder if Oikawa will get cold without a blanket, so he returns the ice pack to the freezer and finds a spare blanket in the living room. He approaches Oikawa’s sleeping form cautiously, anxious not to wake him or give himself away. As smoothly and gently as he can, he drapes the blanket over the setter’s long body. 

Oikawa stirs, just a little, and mumbles, “Hajime...” before he goes still again.

_I’m here,_ thinks Iwaizumi. _I’m right here, Tooru._

He doesn’t move, says nothing. Just stands there, taking in Oikawa’s long eyelashes and soft tufts of brown hair. His parted lips. The curl of his long setter’s fingers peeking out beyond one edge of the blanket.

Iwaizumi feels as though there’s a weight pressing down on his heart, like a stone. Slowly and steadily crushing the monotonous pulse of it. Somewhere inside himself, Hajime knows the burden of his feelings for Tooru should terrify him – the vastness of them; the _how long_ and _how much_ and _how unrequitedly_ , if that’s a word. All the things he’s never been able to say, and all the ways they both aren’t enough and have always, _always_ been too much. And in equal parts, the fact that he’s made this choice, even just for now – to stay, and be what Tooru needs for the time being. It should make him want to run. He should start a breathing exercise right now, count the seconds of precious air entering and leaving. 

But it isn’t terror that he feels in this moment – it’s exhaustion. Sudden and overwhelming, he wonders for the millionth time how he can hold this much feeling inside his body, inside his lungs and lips. _How does anyone hold a love like this?_ he wonders.

The questions that Iwaizumi has been pushing aside are fighting their way back toward the front of his mind, bubbling up like a backed-up drain. Hard, ugly questions that seek more than _here_ and _now_. How long will Oikawa need him for almost everything. How long can he stand to stay. What are they to each other. What is left. He glances out into the hall. His teeth gnaw on his lip, and the pain registers, too. 

Hajime closes his eyes, and sighs. When he opens them, Oikawa is still there, still sleeping peacefully. It doesn’t answer any questions, but… if Hajime feels steadier seeing Tooru asleep there, it’s good enough. For now. For now.

Iwaizumi decides all at once that there’s too much he’s trying not to think about. So instead, he turns out the light and leaves his best friend sleeping with the door ajar. He busies himself with the mental checklist he made earlier. _Distract yourself with productivity, Hajime,_ he tells himself. 

Calling Dr. Takezawa’s office is the first thing, and quick enough to check off. Luckily, they can fit him in this afternoon. Perfect.

One by one, items on his mental checklist for Oikawa are dealt with. Iwaizumi emails Oikawa’s professors on his behalf, briefly explaining the situation and promising that Oikawa will confirm make up assignments with them later. He finds a cloth to dust the common area surfaces, and then sweeps the floor. He also takes out the trash and cleans the kitchen, washing the dishes he finds in the sink, as well as the ones they dirtied eating breakfast together. 

He stalls in the face of _Text the captain on Oikawa’s behalf,_ so instead he emails his own professors, apologizing for his intended absence and promising to turn in his assignments. Even if Oikawa sleeps all day, Hajime knows he won’t be able to focus on lecture, so it’s better not to go for today. 

He sends a brief apology text to Ujida-senpai, letting him know without too many details that he can have his couch back for the time being. They work out a good time for Iwaizumi to swing by and pick up the things he left there.

“And hey man, if things change again, it’s no trouble. Just lmk” is the last text Ujida-senpai sends. Hajime is _so_ grateful to him.

Finally, Iwaizumi takes a thorough inventory of the kitchen, fridge, and pantry, and a little math helps him form a decent guess at how much – or rather how little – Oikawa has been feeding himself lately. Grumbling to himself, Iwaizumi writes up a shopping list. 

That same taunting voice rises in the back of his brain. _Like you’re really any better,_ it sneers. _How many meals have you skipped in the last week, Iwa-chan?_

Okay, so maybe they’re both bad at this. And it’s not like Iwaizumi doesn’t know _why_ he’s been too stressed to eat. 

But Oikawa’s reasons… are another matter. _Why haven’t you been eating, Tooru?_

He wonders if the setter would give an honest answer even if he did respond.

Iwaizumi finishes up his inventory and double checks the list he compiled of food items they need to replenish. Satisfied, all that’s really left is to go out and buy them. 

He glances at Tooru’s bedroom door.

_He’ll be alright if I leave him, won’t he?_

Iwaizumi bites his lip again.

_I’ll just check on him,_ he rationalizes.

His steps are light down the hall, inching the bedroom door open just enough to let his body through. Oikawa has barely moved on the bed, dead to the world. The same deep, slow breaths, and the same peaceful expression, parted lips. Maybe just a hint of drool. Oikawa is a deep sleeper.

Iwaizumi starts to hate himself the longer he stays, and stares. 

After an eternity, he kneels down on the floor, a few feet away from the bed. Leaving some distance. Always leaving some distance. 

He just watches, for a little while longer. 

His voice breaks the stillness of the air in the room, a gentle murmur. Barely louder than the distant noises of other apartments, beyond these walls.

“I’m so mad at you, you know,” he says, quietly. 

Iwaizumi’s knees are starting to protest, resting unprotected on the hardwood floor. He ignores them.

“I know you were overdoing it again, Tooru. I know you. You’re such a bad liar.”

Oikawa hasn’t stirred.

“No one knows you like I do.”

Iwaizumi’s eyes travel over the blanketed bump of Oikawa’s elevated knee.

“I hate it when you do this. I hate when you shut the world out and when you think you’re the only one who gets to know about whatever is messing you up inside. When you think no one else can handle knowing about it.”

Oikawa’s chest slowly rises and falls. 

“I’m so _mad_ at you, Tooru.”

Iwaizumi lets the silence sit for a long minute.

“I don’t think I’ll ever be over you,” he whispers.

Iwaizumi’s tortured brain lets him sit for one final minute more, and no other words come through to challenge the quiet shadows of the room. Oikawa never moves. 

So Iwaizumi rises, leaving the setter to sleep, and goes to get groceries.

~~~

Dr. Takezawa, it turns out, is a short, sharp-featured woman in her late 40s, and she is _very_ good at what she does. She has quick and discerning eyes behind a frameless pair of glasses, a take-no-bullshit attitude, and a near-exhaustive understanding of the psyche of young athletes. Oikawa practically _squirms_ under her aquiline gaze, and Iwaizumi cannot be more thoroughly delighted. She is exactly the kind of doctor Iwaizumi aspires to be, and just knowing that he’ll get to continue interacting with her has Iwaizumi feeling a warmth in his soul that has not been there for quite some time.

She can tell at a glance that nothing in Oikawa’s knee is broken, but she orders the x-rays anyway. She removes the brace with practiced hands, and her fingers travel over the swollen joint in quick, gentle movements, analyzing silently with pursed lips and narrowed eyes. She lifts Oikawa’s foot onto her lap and tests the bend of the joint. She applies light pressure in specific spots, seeking out the true source of the setter’s pain, while Iwaizumi, privately thrilled, quizzes himself in his head on the full anatomy of the knee, mentally connecting her pressure points with potential loci of various common issues. He’s not as fast as her nor as knowledgeable, but he’s absolutely enthralled at this chance to watch a master at work. 

Her diagnosis is swift and certain. Miraculously, it doesn’t need surgery. But it is a bad sprain, and the swelling will take time to go away, and a physical therapy regimen will be necessary for a full recovery. None of which is terribly surprising, but that doesn’t make it easier to hear. Oikawa’s sophomore volleyball season is immediately declared over, and the setter chokes on air.

“No excuses,” she warns, reading Oikawa like a headline before any protest actually leaves his mouth. “Rest is the number one thing you need, young man.”

Iwaizumi deliriously considers proposing to the woman.

She goes over the rest of her prognosis plan, and Iwaizumi pulls out his phone to take notes. Oikawa is somewhat dazed, but does his best to listen attentively. She then invites them to tour the PT facilities they have on site and get acquainted with the trainers. Iwaizumi can’t wait to begin. 

“I’ll just finish up some treatment details with Oikawa-san,” she says. “Go on ahead, and I’ll send him out shortly.”

Iwaizumi does glance at Oikawa, as a non-verbal check-in, but honestly, he’s too excited for the tour to worry much about leaving Oikawa alone. He thanks Dr. Takezawa, bows, and leaves the room.

The doctor closes the door after him. Rather than returning to her desk chair, though, she leans up against the corner of the desk near Oikawa, adopting a more casual posture. “I wanted to take a chance to offer some professional observation I think will serve you well, Oikawa-san,” she says, “although, admittedly, it is not strictly orthopedic.”

“Oh, um. Yes, please, doctor.”

She nods at his knee. “Officially it’s a traumatic injury, but I can see and feel the signs of overuse,” she says. “Now I know your coach personally, Oikawa-san, and I almost never see overuse injuries in his players – he keeps you all to a healthy regimen that strengthens player weaknesses and promotes adequate rest. It’s one of the reasons the university is sought after by aspiring volleyball pros.” She adjusts her glasses with two fingers. “So what does that tell me? That _someone_ has been falling into bad habits, young man. I read in your health history about the last time you overdid it with that knee. And I do not need a medical license to recognize a severe lack of sleep and put two and two together.” 

Oikawa cannot hold her gaze, not when she’s reading him like a book. He furiously wills the warmth that has crept over his cheeks to disappear, while she forges relentlessly on. “Honestly, that sprain probably saved you from worse problems that were – are – brewing underneath, because this will _force_ you to rest it, Oikawa-san.” She waits until his eyes meet hers, for added emphasis. 

“But,” she says, her tone softening considerably, “the frustrating thing about my area of expertise, young man, is that I can’t do much lasting good for you if I can’t treat the underlying cause of the issue. And we both know your poor knee is only the victim here.” Her green eyes are… almost kind, as she bores into him. Which throws Oikawa the hell off, again. But she’s still not done. 

“Oikawa-san, if I may speak frankly.” (The setter wonders wildly if she’s capable of anything other than pointed candor, while he nods helplessly.) “You can’t escape whatever is on your mind with endless practice. It’s not actually making you much better at the sport, and it doesn’t solve the problem you keep turning over and over in your head. So I just want you to know,” she says in a low, almost conspiratorial tone of voice, “that if you were to ever seek out resources for your mental health – like a _therapist,_ maybe – I happen to have a number of colleagues in that field that I personally know and trust. And I would hope you’d consider that for yourself.” She fixes him with a nearly maternal gaze, and Tooru nods, slowly.

“And for the sake of your poor roommate, too,” she adds. And then she _winks_ at him. 

Oikawa is utterly perturbed. He feels like some soft and terrified animal that has narrowly escaped a fierce predator, at the cost of every deep secret he’s ever held. 

But… 

“I. I will, um. I’ll definitely give that some thought, doctor.” He stutters out a sincere ‘thank you’ and half a bow, and flees the room to catch up with Iwa-chan as fast as his crutches will carry him.

~~~

“How is it now? Does it hurt?”

It’s later that evening, during dinner, and the exhaustion of the day is starting to creep into Iwaizumi’s bones, reminding him how little he actually slept the night before. 

“It’s fine, Iwa-chan.”

“Liar.”

Oikawa scoffs, not looking at him.

“Your painkillers will have worn off by now, and I can see you wincing when you think I’m not looking,” he says, glancing back and forth from the knee to Oikawa’s face. 

Oikawa barely flinches, and says nothing, setting his mouth in a stubborn line. 

“But you should wait to take the next dose of painkillers right before bed, so they last overnight.” Iwaizumi frowns at his roommate, and fights the urge to bite his own lip. Oikawa glances at him.

“Will you let me ice it in the meantime?” Iwaizumi asks, hesitating more than he should. It seems important now to have Oikawa’s permission, in a way that Iwaizumi wouldn’t have registered before. “It _will_ help,” he adds.

Oikawa pushes food around his plate and sighs. “I suppose.”

Iwaizumi nods. “Finish eating, first.” He clears his own plate, and busies himself with washing the dishes. Distracting his brain. 

Several minutes later, when Oikawa is done picking at his dinner, Iwaizumi pulls the ice pack from the freezer and wraps it safely in a towel. He moves into the little dining area. “C’mon, Oikawa. Let’s get you onto the couch.” 

His roommate collects the crutches and moves into the living room, where Iwaizumi helps him get set up. Then, he sits near Oikawa on the couch.

“May I?” he asks.

There is only a tiny pause. “It’s fine, Iwa-chan,” says Oikawa. 

Hajime exhales. He lifts Oikawa’s leg gently into his own lap, and starts removing the brace with careful fingers. Then he pulls a pillow from the couch and moves that underneath, resting the knee on it to keep it elevated. And finally, he applies the ice pack to the swollen joint with care.

Oikawa sucks in a breath, a reaction to the cold on his skin. But his exhale is more like a relieved sigh. “Mm,” he hums. “That does help.”

“I told you,” Iwaizumi mumbles, but he smiles in spite of himself, and sneaks a glance at Oikawa.

For a long minute, they sit like this in silence, until Iwaizumi shifts the ice pack to another swollen spot on the knee. He frowns slightly at the puffy skin, pink with the cold.

“So,” he begins, cautiously, “are you going to tell me how it got like this?” 

Oikawa hums again, not looking at him. “No,” he says.

A short puff of air escapes Iwaizumi’s nostrils, almost a laugh. “Ass,” he mutters.

Oikawa sits stubbornly silent for a long moment, long enough that Iwaizumi starts to worry that he is actually not going to say. But he doesn’t press yet, just keeps glancing at his roommate, applying the ice pack, and waiting.

Finally, Oikawa huffs, losing some battle within his mind. “You already know, Iwa-chan,” he says, quietly. 

Iwaizumi does know. “Same as high school,” he says.

Oikawa nods, and looks away.

They fall into a silence, again. Both boys get lost in their thoughts for a while.

Iwaizumi escapes his reverie. “There’s no Kageyama anymore,” he says. “No Ushijima to lose to. This university trains the best in the nation. You’re _going_ to go pro.”

Oikawa hums.

“Who are you trying to beat, then?” 

Oikawa reaches into a pocket and pulls out his phone, tapping away at it. 

Iwaizumi has fully given up on Oikawa answering him, when he finally does. “It doesn’t matter, Iwa-chan.”

Hajime can’t think of anything to say to this, so he doesn’t. Just focuses on applying the ice pack to the knee on his lap, his other hand resting on Oikawa’s leg. 

After several more minutes, the ice pack has started to warm too much, and needs to be changed out. So Iwaizumi gingerly extricates himself from under Oikawa’s leg, and changes out the ice pack in the kitchen, wrapping the new one in a fresh towel.

He returns and repositions himself once more so the knee is back in his lap, and begins the process anew. “Who are you texting?” he asks, just to make conversation.

“No one,” says Oikawa, tapping away.

Iwaizumi glances at his best friend’s face, and then looks away. “Tomoko-chan,” he says.

“I said no one, Iwa-chan, pay attention,” Oikawa chides. 

Hajime says nothing. 

“We broke up,” says Oikawa.

Iwaizumi lifts the ice pack off of Tooru’s knee, and just kind of holds it, dumbfounded. “You broke up?”

Oikawa’s eyes meet Iwaizumi’s and stay there. “I just said that, Iwa-chan. Are you stupid?” 

“Oi,” Iwaizumi grunts. “Shut up.” 

After a beat, Iwaizumi notices his own hand getting cold, and recommits to ice pack application.

“Are you... okay?” Iwaizumi tries.

“I’m fine, Iwa-chan.”

Another beat.

Oikawa huffs. “It’s not a big deal, I didn’t even like her,” he grumbles, eyes on his phone. Pushes his glasses up on his nose.

And now Iwaizumi hums, glancing at Oikawa for a long moment. When he looks back down at Oikawa’s knee, he’s smiling, just a little.

~~~~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave ya girl a comment, friend! I got she/her pronouns and a desire for approval from internet strangers XD


	5. Ask

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Panic attacks/Anxiety.
> 
> Chapter Five: Ask (want – routine – practice)

In hindsight, Hajime should have known it would be like this.

Oh, he knew about a lot of it. Iwaizumi anticipated most of the things he’s _doing_ now. Holding Oikawa’s bag on the way to class. Helping him up the stairs in the buildings that don’t have an elevator. Helping him with his balance while his roommate puts on a coat or takes out his contacts. Helping him into the shower, standing outside the bathroom fretting the whole time that he’ll slip, and then helping him balance enough to dry off once he’s out. Fetching Oikawa’s books or his computer or his glasses when he doesn’t want to get up and hobble around the apartment. Removing the brace and repositioning the brace and putting on the brace, over and over. Helping him into and out of clothing at the beginning and end of the day, and turning out his bedroom light at night. It’s not any of _that_ , although Hajime can tell how much it bothers Oikawa to need so much help.

It’s Oikawa’s moods Hajime should have foreseen. 

It’s really _exactly_ as bad as it was during their second year of high school, except now Oikawa and Iwaizumi live together, so Iwaizumi gets the full brunt of Oikawa’s temperamental restlessness. Back at Aoba Johsai, Oikawa took a lot of the struggle with his recovery process home. And Iwaizumi was sometimes over there, too, and saw it in the way Oikawa fell into gloomy silence and picked at his food and frowned and zoned out, punching agitated texts to his girlfriend-of-the-month into his phone, and one time when he snapped at his own mother. Iwaizumi remembers the helpless feeling of just _sitting there_ , and Oikawa’s mother’s distracted, tight smile when he gave up, excused himself and went home. 

But Iwaizumi gets _all_ of it, this time. This is their apartment, after all, and Oikawa _is_ stuck there a lot.

And actually, it’s not just Oikawa’s moods that make things difficult, it’s both of them finding every possible way to talk around all the things they can’t find words for yet.

They don’t talk about Iwaizumi’s feelings and they don’t talk about Oikawa’s thoughts and they tap dance over Oikawa’s overpracticing and they shimmy past Iwaizumi’s time on Ujida-senpai’s couch and they have a million tiny bickering fights over _anything_ else. Oikawa’s crutches slip a plate off the counter and it breaks, so they argue about it. Iwaizumi switches the heat on because it’s almost _November_ even though Oikawa hates how it dries out the air, so they argue about it. Oikawa wants to shower before his next class but there isn’t enough time, not _really_ , not to do it properly and carefully with his knee, so they argue about it. 

But in the evenings, when neither of them have practice to go to anymore and Iwaizumi cooks for both of them and Oikawa is tired because his body just _needs_ a lot of rest, they don’t argue. In fact, they don’t speak much at all. Iwaizumi helps Oikawa ice his knee, and Oikawa lets him. Iwaizumi touches Oikawa softly, his hands delicate and too careful on his injured joint, and Oikawa lets him. And it’s always just enough to take care of him, never crossing a line, but it’s different than the way Dr. Takezawa touches Tooru or anyone else who isn’t Hajime, but still, Oikawa lets him. And Iwaizumi doesn’t mention it when he feels Oikawa watching him sometimes, expression unreadable. 

Tooru is _different_ in these evenings, in a way Iwaizumi can’t really explain. It’s a good different, an unexpected and soft and precious different that Iwaizumi wonders about constantly. And the things they don’t say get wider and taller and pile up in the corners of the apartment and collect dust, and both boys just slide past them and over them and around them and never acknowledge that they’re _there_. 

And Oikawa is sleeping better and eating better and he’s going to class regularly even on his crutches and he makes up all his assignments and somehow they both get through midterms and it’s more things to argue about and dance around and have quiet, gentle evenings together that they don’t talk about. 

And after several weeks, the knee is a little better, and stronger, and Oikawa moves into a walking brace but Dr. Takezawa makes him stay on the crutches for an extra week anyway, and Oikawa is like a caged feral cat. That whole week, Iwaizumi really thinks Oikawa is going to just rebel and give up the crutches or their evening routine but he _still_ doesn’t, and Iwaizumi doesn’t understand why but he doesn’t ask. 

And then Oikawa’s knee still needs a brace but it doesn’t need to be iced as much anymore, and with Dr. Takezawa’s approval, they switch to physical therapy exercises instead. They learn the stretches at the PT side of the doctor’s office, and Iwaizumi practices replicating them while the PT staff watch and Oikawa acts annoyed. But the quiet, delicate evenings continue. Iwaizumi keeps touching him, but more, now, gently guiding his stiff and tired joint through the stretches, murmuring the counts and little quiet praises for his effort to hold the stretch, and mostly Oikawa doesn’t say anything because it’s not strictly necessary.

But on some days, Oikawa speaks when Iwaizumi is tending to him. Maybe one sentence per evening. Small things, easy-to-miss things.

“That feels nice,” he says, and Iwaizumi doesn’t hear him, actually, but when he looks at Oikawa’s face, the setter looks away.

Or another time, “You’re good at this, Iwa-chan,” and this time when Iwaizumi looks at him, he doesn’t look away.

“Thank you, Hajime,” he says one night, sincerely, honestly, after Iwaizumi lets him rest between stretches, and he stutters out an ‘of course’.

And Iwaizumi realizes all of a sudden that he can’t take it. 

The unanswered questions crowd his brain and it’s so clear Oikawa doesn’t want to talk about any of that, about anything that _matters_. And neither does Hajime, if he’s honest, because he’s too scared of all the things Oikawa could say, might say, will say. It’s just Tooru’s knee, and it might be keeping them together right now, but that doesn’t mean Hajime isn’t still falling apart, in little pieces.

When Iwaizumi runs out of excuses to touch him, will Oikawa still let him? When Oikawa can do everything on his own again, will he leave Hajime behind?

It’s too much to handle, and Iwaizumi has too much at stake to let it fuck him up like this, over and over. 

So one afternoon, when Oikawa is in class, Hajime gets the mail and finds the lease renewal notice. They have until December 1st to decide if they’re renewing for January. And with a sudden heavy clarity, Iwaizumi knows what he’s going to do.

He makes one of Oikawa’s favorites that night – a curry dish with pork that has a nice kick and is perfect for these cold autumn evenings. 

“We got the lease renewal,” he says, when Oikawa takes his second bite.

“Mmm,” the setter hums, mouth full.

“So um, I decided. Uh. I’m gonna.” He takes a sip of water, to clear his throat. “I’m gonna find my own place, and I wanted to give you time. To look for a new roommate.” 

Oikawa goes still. He sets his utensils down. Swallows.

“You’re moving out?”

 _I should have known,_ thinks Iwaizumi, belatedly. “Yeah,” he manages.

Oikawa’s hands fall to his lap, and his full attention turns to Iwaizumi. “Iwa-chan. Can we talk about this?”

Iwaizumi stares at his food.

“Hajime,” the setter insists.

He brings his eyes to meet Oikawa’s. Tries to lock down everything inside himself that feels like it’s going to come loose. “Okay.”

“I don’t want that. You know I don’t want that, right?” His voice is soft.

Several of the loose pieces escape Hajime’s imagined grasp. “Uh,” he tries. “You’ll be better by then. Your knee, I mean.”

Oikawa’s brow furrows. “I’m not talking about that,” he says. “That’s not the point, Iwa-chan.”

“Well, you won’t need me, so I’ll. I can. I’ll move out.” He loses his nerve and starts shoveling food into his mouth.

“Iwa-chan, stop. Look at me.” Iwaizumi doesn’t. Won’t. “Hajime. At least slow down, you’re going to choke –” 

And Oikawa is right, because Hajime starts coughing, hard, trying to dislodge some ill-positioned spice that’s making his throat feel like it’s on fire. He pushes back from the table and starts pounding on his own chest.

“Oh my god, Hajime,” says Oikawa, and grabs his water glass, pushing it into Iwaizumi’s other hand. Iwaizumi takes several large gulps, which helps with the burning feeling. He sucks in a deep breath. And another, faster. One more. 

_Oh fuck._ Hajime tries desperately to remember how the breathing exercise goes. He’s supposed to count the seconds for inhales and exhales, keep them long. _One,_ he thinks. _One. One. One, one, one –_

He stands abruptly, moving away from the table, sloshing water out of the glass. He backs up and has desperate thoughts about escape. This is the worst thing. There’s no air, and there’s Oikawa’s face, his widening eyes, his outstretched hands.

“Hajime,” Iwaizumi hears. “Hajime!”

Iwaizumi’s feet find the wall behind him, and he throws a hand out against it. His knees give out, and he sinks down along the wall, shivering and sucking in gulp after gulp of air that won’t stay. It’s _bad._ The water glass probably drops and spills, because Hajime distantly feels moisture growing on his sock. His heart is out the door and down the stairs and halfway off campus, it’s going so _fast_. Too fast. He’s lightheaded, so lightheaded, and his hands feel tingly.

There are hands on him, touching his knees, then arms, then his face. Tooru’s huge brown eyes swim into focus, overflowing with fear. “Hajime, oh my god! Breathe! Slow down!”

One of Iwaizumi’s hands manages to cover Oikawa’s on his face. Knows Oikawa can feel him shaking. 

“Look at me, just look at me, okay? Breathe,” he commands, and they’ve never done this, Oikawa hasn’t done this, ever, so he isn’t calm, but it _is_ helping.

 _One two,_ thinks Iwaizumi. Forces the exhale to slow, _one two three four_. The next inhale grows to three.

“Good, slow down,” says Oikawa, nodding. “Keep breathing.” His face twitches just slightly, and Iwaizumi’s foggy brainwaves recognize pain in Tooru’s expression.

“Y-your kn-kn-knee,” he manages in stutters. _One two three, four,_ he forces in slowly, still shaking. Iwaizumi’s hands go to Oikawa’s brace, finding the awkward angle where Oikawa hurried to join him on the floor. He scrabbles at the injured joint to reposition it, and stretches out one of his own bent legs to support it when Oikawa can release the weight of his leg.

They sit there for a long time, and Oikawa’s hands return to Hajime’s face, the thumbs turning soothing circles on his cheeks. Iwaizumi keeps trying to lengthen his breath counts, while Oikawa nods and mumbles nonsense at him. “Yes, breathe, Iwa-chan, like that, okay, keep going, Hajime, you’re doing good, yes, so good...” And his eyes never leave Hajime’s the whole time. 

Finally, the shaking is happening less, and Iwaizumi’s counts are up to seven on both his inhale and exhale, and he’s even started holding the top of the inhale a little before letting it out. The air that fled before is starting to trust in his lungs again. The tingling in his fingers has stopped.

“That happens a lot,” Iwaizumi whispers. It’s a relief to let one of these secrets he’s been keeping go. “Since that night. When I… left.”

“It’s a panic attack,” says Oikawa, but it’s more of a question. 

Iwaizumi nods. “I didn’t want to tell you.” Swallows. “A lot of things I didn’t want to tell you.”

Oikawa’s brow furrows again. His hands are still holding Hajime’s face. “I don’t like seeing you like this,” he admits. “It’s… terrifying.”

“I know,” says his roommate. “I have to move out, Tooru.”

Oikawa’s eyes push closed, for a second. “It’s me,” he says, awaiting confirmation again.

Hajime’s inhale stutters, but he keeps hold of it. Nods.

“It’s been you for a long time,” he says, breathlessly.

Oikawa’s hands slowly withdraw from Iwaizumi’s face. “I think I knew that, somewhere. I’ve been scared of it,” he admits, eyes looking past Iwaizumi’s shoulder. He looks back, suddenly. “You really won’t stay?”

“I _can’t,_ ” says Hajime, shaking his head just a little. 

“I’m so stupid,” says Tooru, with pain. “I’m _selfish,_ Hajime. But I don’t want us to change.”

“We _changed_ , Tooru. It already happened.”

“I mean losing you,” says the setter. “I don’t _want_ that,” he whispers.

Iwaizumi says nothing, and gives himself a long breath _(in for six, hold for three, out for thirteen – pretty good)_. “What _do_ you want, Tooru?”

Oikawa’s eyes hold his, quizzically. “What do you mean?”

“You know what you don’t want,” says Iwaizumi. “You’ve told me a lot of what you don’t want. But what _do_ you want?”

Oikawa takes a breath.

“From me,” adds Hajime. “From us.” 

Oikawa thinks for a moment. “I don’t know,” he admits. Mumbles. “You’re… a lot more than my friend.” Goes quiet.

“Um,” Iwazumi starts. Clears his throat, and shifts slightly against the wall. “We. We had sex,” he says, nervous. “And I thought you… you didn’t seem to _hate_ it – I don’t know, but I don’t remember you telling me outright that you _wanted_ it. Plus, you were drunk, so.” The color rises in his cheeks. He rushes to add, “And that’s! It’s fine, I’m not. I’m not asking that. You know _I_ didn’t mind. Well, now you do. I mean I did, then. Um.” His heart is stumbling in his chest, but he’s determined to make the words. “I just. Maybe if we figure out what you… what you want. And I can. I’ll do it.”

Oikawa looks a little alarmed. “You –”

“I’m still moving out,” Iwaizumi says, holding a hand up. “I need to – I need that, still. But while I’m here.” His hands fidget on his lap. “I don’t mean sex, Tooru. I don’t expect you to ask for that.” Oikawa’s alarm softens. He continues, “But I’ll feel better about a lot of things if I know you actually _want_ them from me. Like, _anything_. Making you dinner. Helping you shower.”

“Doing my stretches,” adds Oikawa, and Hajime nods.

“Yeah,” he says.

“Oh,” says Oikawa, considering. “Hmm.”

Iwaizumi lets him sit with the decision. It has to be his choice.

“Yeah,” says the setter, slowly. “Okay.” He nods. “You’ll… it’ll help? With the…” he gestures at the two of them, on the floor. “With your panic attacks,” he asks.

“Mmhmm,” Iwaizumi nods with enthusiasm. “Yes.”

“But, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says, and he’s trying to see beyond it. “I could ask for anything.” He frowns. Iwaizumi lets him ponder. “Something mean. I could be a bully.”

“I know how to say no, Oikawa,” says Iwaizumi evenly, and it’s so obvious that Tooru laughs.

“Okay, then,” says the setter. He’s smiling, and it’s one of Oikawa’s genuine ones, so Iwaizumi returns it.

“What was that thing you said to me all the time in high school?” asks Hajime, then he remembers. “ _I have perfect trust in you, Iwa-chan,_ ” he says.

Oikawa’s heart skips. _Oh shit._

“Okay,” he breathes. “Okay.” He looks at where they are, how they’re hunched and straddled on the hardwood floor. “I _want_ to finish eating dinner with you, Hajime,” he says, but he’s still asking.

Iwaizumi smiles, and it’s really good. “Yeah, okay. I want that too.”

They help each other slowly up off the floor and back to the table.

The food has gone a little cold, but it’s still good. And they clean up the spilled water, although most of it seeped into the hardwood and will probably warp the floorboards in that spot for a while. But this time while they eat no one starts hyperventilating, and the dust flies off some of those unsaid things that are stacked in the corner, and they actually talk about their days, and it’s all so much better, _easier_ , and Iwaizumi thinks, _okay, good._

~~~

To Iwaizumi’s surprise, their evening routine doesn’t change too much. After dinner, Oikawa tells Iwaizumi that he will do the dishes (“Don’t worry, Iwa-chan, I _want_ to. It’s only fair, since you made the food...”) and then joins Iwaizumi in the living room where he has retreated to study. 

“I would like you to still help with my stretches, Iwa-chan. If that’s okay with you,” he says, after Iwaizumi finishes his readings. 

Iwaizumi returns his gaze. “You don’t mind?”

Oikawa colors slightly. “I mean, if you would rather not...”

“No! I just, uh, I didn’t know you – you liked me doing them.”

“You’re – I told you before, though, Iwa-chan. You’re. It’s good. The way you... I don’t mind,” he fumbles. Then, “I need to get on the couch, Iwa-chan.”

“Oh, um, yeah,” says Iwaizumi, moving his things so they can begin. 

While resting between sets, Oikawa picks the thread back up. “I tried to tell you before, Iwa-chan, but I guess…” he sighs. “I like it when you help me with these stretches. I want you to keep helping me, the way we have been.”

“Oh,” says Iwaizumi. “Okay.” He considers for a long moment. “I’m not too easy on you, though? You’re feeling the stretch in the right place?”

The setter nods, and Hajime is about to start on the next set of stretches.

Oikawa adds, in a low murmur, “I like the way you touch me, Iwa-chan.”

Iwaizumi’s eyes snap to Oikawa’s, and he cannot find any hidden meaning in Tooru’s expression. They both break the gaze and look away, uncertain what to say. 

“My knee,” says Oikawa, belatedly, tacking it on. 

Iwaizumi clears his throat, and moves him into the next stretch without responding.

The next week is… interesting. 

Predictably, Oikawa _is_ mischievous and playful, and some things Oikawa asks for Iwaizumi instantly shuts down. He tries to get Iwaizumi to do his laundry for him (“but Iwa-chan, I _want_ you to!”), and another time the setter asks for Hajime to take a call from Oikawa’s mother, so he doesn’t have to deal with her many worried inquiries. There is also one time Oikawa _begs_ Hajime to carry him up the stairs to one of his classes, arguing first that it would just be faster, and then that his feet hurt too much to do it himself. Iwaizumi is briefly concerned, but Oikawa’s face gives away that he’s just teasing and being dramatic. Iwaizumi lets the setter lean on him all the way up the three flights of stairs, and then pokes him hard in the side for good measure. 

But most of the time, Oikawa takes Hajime’s “be clear about what you want” request seriously. There are a couple things Oikawa begins doing on his own, and Hajime starts teaching himself to let go – which is strange, but important. Still, so many of the routines they built around Tooru’s recovery process don’t change, and Oikawa’s knee gets slowly stronger, and even now Hajime feels needed. And much more _explicitly_ so.

An old, familiar voice rises in the back of his mind now. _Be careful, Hajime,_ it warns. _You’re moving out. This will end._

He can sense the fear in the pit of his stomach, the impulse to bite his lip. 

_It’s just for this little bit of time,_ he pushes back. _Just a little longer, and then…_ His heart stutters. _And then I learn how to move on._

It’s another quiet evening, taking Oikawa’s knee through the stretches that he asked for help with. 

They’re paused between sets, and Tooru speaks up. “The team has a big set of matches soon, Iwa-chan,” he says.

Iwaizumi grunts an affirmative.

Oikawa fixes his gaze on his roommate. “Hajime, I want to go to practice. To visit.”

Iwaizumi looks up to see the quiet eagerness in his eyes. _Of course he does,_ Hajime thinks suddenly. “Oh,” he says. But there’s something more to this, something Oikawa isn’t saying.

“You want me to take you?” he asks.

The setter’s eyes are a bit too wide, and Hajime realizes Tooru is actually scared he’ll say no. That he might. “Would that be okay, Iwa-chan?” asks Oikawa.

Hajime considers. Tooru _could_ go on his own. He’s been moving fine in the more flexible walking brace, and doing well with his recovery. _Would he be tempted to play?_ Hajime wonders. _The doctor didn’t okay that yet._ He chews on his lip. _Will it upset him, to see the team playing without him? Will it make him feel better, to know he’ll be coming back soon enough?_

Iwaizumi realizes he hasn’t said anything, and the fear in Oikawa’s eyes is more palpable, now, threatening to evolve into something else. 

“Yeah,” he says slowly. Finally. “Yeah, okay. We could go.”

“Together? You’ll go with me?”

“If that’s what you want,” says Hajime.

“Yes, Iwa-chan. I do.”

Iwaizumi nods. Starts to worry about what might happen, and stops himself, deciding he’ll just deal with it once it does. “Okay, when?”

“Can we go tomorrow?”

~~~

They’re almost late, because for his own reasons Oikawa can’t decide what to wear, of all stupid things, just to go visit the team at practice, and then fidgets with his hair for a solid eleven minutes in the bathroom mirror. His roommate has to suppress the urge to shout at him.

Iwaizumi is agitated and anxious in the chilly late-afternoon air, trying to watch his best friend every chance he can, to gauge his mood. He’s more than a little terrified that something, anything, will go wrong. That Oikawa will withdraw, sullen and unreachable, and that their weird, precious _whatever-the-fuck_ will slip away and shatter before Hajime can prevent it. 

Before Hajime has promised that it will, anyway. 

The setter seems fine, eager, vibrant, as they reach the gym and start to hear the familiar squeaks of shoes on the gym floor. There are shouts of recognition, even cheers, when they walk into view. “Oikawa-san!” “Iwaizumi-san!” “Oikawa-senpai!” “Oikawa!”

Tooru absolutely _glows_ from their greetings, laughing and smiling easily, and Iwaizumi is reminded suddenly, almost sharply, how Oikawa always is during games; radiant, confident. Like the very floor is blessed that he’s walking on it. Like there’s no possible reality in which he doesn’t become the volleyball player that he is.

“I couldn’t miss out on seeing you all before the December qualifiers, could I?” Oikawa is saying, beaming at his gathered teammates. “Had to drag Iwa-chan with me so he’d stop whining about how much he misses practice,” adds the setter conspiratorially, just loud enough to ensure his roommate heard him.

“Shut up, Crappykawa,” says Iwaizumi, and shoves his hands into pockets. He’s pleased, though.

Hoshino-san, the captain and libero, walks over to clap Iwaizumi on the back and then turns to Oikawa. “We miss both of you on this team. Any chance we get both of you back before I graduate?”

Iwaizumi’s several anxieties about their various reasons for taking time away from the team flutter in his stomach as he hesitates, but Oikawa’s silver tongue intercedes a half second later. “Who’s to say, Hoshino-san?” he asks, voice dipping low, almost flirtatious in his tone. “Can’t keep me away forever, but we’ll just have to see.” 

Some of the team clamor for more details, but Oikawa waves their questions away with a dismissive hand, and smiles grandly. “Come on, now. I didn’t walk all this way on a bad knee just to tell you how I’m doing. Let’s see how much better you all got without me,” says the setter, nudging a junior nearby. “Kurogawa-san, I want to see your block timing with Fujimori. Akiyama-san, Nakamura-san, Katoshi, Ikeda – I hear rumors of a deadly synchro attack… don’t keep me in suspense!”

Everyone starts to disperse to begin practice in earnest, grinning, but the captain stays by Iwaizumi for a moment longer. “He seems to be doing better than I thought,” says the senior. 

“Good and bad days,” grunts Iwaizumi. “We’re getting there, but it’s a process. His doctor is very good, and I trust her completely.”

“And you?” asks Hoshino-san, fixing Hajime with his warm hazel eyes. “You have to know how much the two of you are a package deal. Getting our star setter back without his favorite spiker… can’t really imagine it, somehow.” He winks.

Iwaizumi knows Oikawa’s absence from the team must leave an obvious void; he remembers those too-quiet practices after the high school version of this injury at Seijoh. The distracted way the team kept going, but constantly looking over their shoulders, as though Oikawa would come back through the doors at any moment, boisterous and lively as ever. Hajime knows Oikawa’s absence from their team now has to be felt more than his own, but it’s nice to realize he is missed, too. And by the captain, no less – Iwaizumi has looked up to him since the day they met. 

The official reason he gave the coach for leaving the team was a lie, and Hajime wonders what the team was told. Or what they suspect.

“Not too late, you know,” adds Hoshino-san, and runs off to join the others circling up to stretch. 

Iwaizumi goes to join Oikawa on the bench, and the setter beams at him, patting the space on his other side. He’s lost in thought, but Oikawa pulls him out of it with hands around his bicep when he sits. “I’m so glad we’re here, Iwa-chan,” says the setter, squeezing his arm and letting go.

Iwaizumi hums, smiling at him. He turns to watch his former teammates on the court. 

Hajime hasn’t really thought much about what Oikawa was like in the practices without him. His brow furrows slightly; it’s difficult to imagine simply because of the years and years they _have_ played together. Was he quieter? Less confident? _He started overdoing it after I left,_ Hajime realizes. 

He glances at Oikawa again. The dark corners of Hajime’s brain start to awaken and rattle his deeper worries about Oikawa into his echoing mind, but the whistle sounds to announce the end of stretches, so his focus shifts back to the court.

The other two setters on the team are junior Akiyama Yosuke – who prefers hitting, but as a ‘pinch setter’ his instincts are quite good – and freshman Matsuda Hayako, who is talented, but inexperienced, and has trouble with nerves. It appears that in Oikawa’s absence they’ve been leaning into a 4-2 rotation to improve their coverage. It’s working well enough, but Hayako is still learning what his teammates like for tosses, and is struggling to get the right kind of toss to each player consistently. Akiyama-san seems to have the opposite problem – he sets so consistently that it fails to account for spiker preference at all.

Before long, Oikawa is _tsk_ ing under his breath and muttering to himself, pushing his glasses up on his nose. He’s completely absorbed by observation mode, and Iwaizumi can see the gears clicking and whirring away in the setter’s brain. He leans forward, resting his elbows on his thighs, and Iwaizumi has to tap him to remind him to be careful of his injured knee.

The practice goes well, and the team seems to be enjoying themselves. Some of the hitters are even trying to show off for Oikawa’s benefit, which absolutely delights him. The players manage to showcase their synchro attack – which still needs some work for the actual synchronization of it, but it does look good enough to intimidate their upcoming opponents. Oikawa applauds their efforts, and makes Iwaizumi join him shouting one of their fan section cheers, just the two of them, which has many of the players grinning under their sweat-soaked faces. 

Oikawa turns to Iwaizumi several times during the practice to make comments or exclaim about their teammates’ performances. “He set it left – see, they’re expecting that.” “Iwa-chan, that block is so much better!” “Too low. That’s the third time the toss is too low.” “Oh, Ikeda is feeling good today, Iwa-chan, look!” Oikawa is lit up, and Hajime sees all the reasons he was named captain their third year at Seijoh – his astute observation skills, the trust and investment in his team, his desire to celebrate every centimeter of progress. Hajime’s relief that he agreed to do this is rivaled only by Hajime’s sudden recognition of how much he misses the sport. Truth be told, Oikawa’s not the only one fired up. Hajime’s fists clench and unclench in his lap with every satisfying spike. 

They are invited into the huddle at the end of practice, and neither minds the press of sweaty bodies around them. Hoshino-san turns to Oikawa. “Alright, Oikawa, I know you have notes. Let’s hear ‘em.” He grins, motions for Oikawa to share with everyone.

“Well, not many, Hoshino-san, not many! You are all doing really well, and I know you’re going to crush it at the qualifiers.” He grins at all of them. “The synchro attack looks so good! Nakamura-san, don’t forget to launch from the midline – your jump travels so far now! All of you, check in with each other when you know it’s coming to tighten up the timing even more. Ikeda – I saw those straights and the power you put behind the jump; were you trying to impress me when I’m not even playing? You’re too sweet. Fujimori, we’re done with midterms, so what has you distracted in those blocks, hmm?” He smiles coyly. “Kurogawa-san, you are too considerate – he slowed down to keep up with you, Fujimori, so make sure you stay in the game and ahead of the ball! Katoshi-chan, that serve! I could explode with pride. You’re really catching up. I applaud our setter duo – the best it could be without me! Hayako-chan, you’re really doing so well! Just remember, if you forget everyone’s preferences in the moment, that taller hitters will want slightly higher tosses. It’s a good rule of thumb. And Hoshino-san, flawless as ever. There’s no one better to lead you all.” He beams.

“Nothing for me?” drawls Akiyama-san, with a little snort-laugh. 

Oikawa smiles, and Iwaizumi sees the tightness that flits over his expression. Hajime recognizes it instantly as veiled dislike, but everyone else seems fooled by the smile. “Aki-san, I wanted to save yours. Can we do a little setter chat after, just me and you and Hayako-chan?” 

“Sure thing, Oikawa-senpai!” trills Hayako, and Akiyama says “Of course, Oikawa-sama.” Some of the team chuckle at Akiyama’s chosen honorific, and Oikawa’s smile tightens a bit more. 

The coach walks everyone through his own notes, agreeing with most of Oikawa’s observations, and suggesting they run different drills the next few days to compensate for those weaknesses. Hoshino-san brings them in for a group cheer, and then the team is dismissed.

Oikawa grabs Iwaizumi’s shoulder. “Go talk to the coach, Iwa-chan.” His brown eyes flick over to the man in question, standing on the other side of the court, chatting with the assistant coaches. 

“What? Why?”

Oikawa looks at him like he’s a child. “Iwa-chan. I have eyes.” When Hajime remains speechless, he continues. “You _miss_ it. I saw you. You miss playing. So go talk to the coach now, and don’t let your pride get in the way.” He gives him a small smile.

Iwaizumi glances over at the coach. “You… um.” He considers, eyes down. _Maybe I don’t have to give up everything,_ he thinks. _Maybe I can still have volleyball, when I’m ready._ Hajime looks back at his best friend. “Uh, will you wait for me?”

“Of course, Iwa-chan. I’ll wait by the locker room. Now go,” he says, and gives the wing spiker a little push.

Oikawa grins at Hajime’s retreating back, watching him approach the head coach, and then turns to Aki-san and Hayako. “Alright, my lovely setter squad! Let’s chat.”

Going over the finer points of his observations and notes for Hayako and Akiyama doesn’t take very long. Oikawa releases them with high-fives for both, and then he moves over to the hallway near the locker room to wait like he promised. 

After a couple of minutes, Ikeda and Nakamura-san zoom out of the locker room too fast, and nearly collide with the setter. They apologize, but Oikawa grins and waves away their worries. Thinking of Iwa-chan’s concerned face, though, he decides to move just around the corner, where he can still hear most of what is going on, but with less danger of collision. 

A few more minutes later, Oikawa overhears voices. A couple of his teammates are exiting the locker room. He hears Hayako-chan speaking excitedly. “...so great having Oikawa-senpai here? I miss having him around!”

Another player sniffs dismissively, and Oikawa frowns, listening closely. “I mean, he’s a great setter, but I’ve never liked the way he has to know everyone’s business.” With a jolt, Tooru recognizes Akiyama’s voice. “Just because you need to know how your spikers are feeling doesn’t mean you dig into everyone’s personal shit.” He intones mockingly, imitating Oikawa. “ _‘You hit that toss a bit weakly, Aki-san – did your girlfriend break up with you or something?’_ I don’t need to do that shit to be a good setter, and it creeps me out that he does.”

“Oh,” says Hayako, and even around the corner, Oikawa can hear the uncomfortable tone in his voice. “I guess you’re right.” There’s a slight pause, before the freshman continues. “Um, I’m going to walk with Katoshi. See you, Akiyama-senpai,” he says, shuffling away. 

“There you are, Fujimori!” Akiyama calls. “I’m starving. Let’s escape before I have to see Oikawa again.” The junior’s tone is taunting and familiar – like this is something they’ve discussed before.

“Ugh, I know what you mean. I’m just glad I get some hits in now he’s gone. What’s even the point of learning everyone’s preferred tosses? We all know how much he favors his precious _Iwa-chan,_ ” says Fujimori, derisively. 

“Oh man, right? Just _fuck_ already,” says Akiyama, laughing mean-spiritedly. “Not even on the team anymore and still whipped for that pretty boy know-it-all.” Both of them laugh.

Tooru’s heart is pounding. He realizes they are going to pass his way and find him here in a few seconds. He debates letting them see that he overheard, but he’s honestly still reeling, and can’t think of anything to say. He hurries behind a trophy case, moving unevenly with his knee, and ducking down so they won’t see him as they pass. 

Oikawa’s blood feels hot in his face and hands, flushed with shame and wounded pride. He never liked Akiyama-san much – could tell there was something distasteful about him from the start – but Fujimori? And to corrupt Hayako’s enthusiasm like that… Oikawa flits between fury and shock and hurt. His self-hatred rises like a shadow, instantly overwhelming his brain, choking like poison. He pictures them all talking behind his back, laughing horribly. He imagines malicious imitations of his serve, twisted jabs at his team spirit. Questions every kind comment or respectful remark he’s ever heard from his teammates. A dizzying spiral of loathing curls in his gut, sickening.

Tooru suddenly has no desire to be here, to potentially find out how many more of them secretly despise him. Better off alone, than a massive burden to everyone. 

_This was a bad idea, after all,_ he thinks. 

He starts toward a side exit, slipping out of the building and heading back toward the apartment.

~~~~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god, I really think this chapter might be my favorite. One more after this one, friends! 
> 
> Thanks for sticking with me! Leave a comment if you like <3


	6. Unsaid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Just, like, so many feelings, friends. Happy reading!
> 
> Chapter Six: Unsaid (public – bright – together)

“ _Shittykawa!_ ” 

Iwa-chan’s voice is loud in the evening air, and he sounds out of breath. The setter lets him get closer before he turns and keeps walking.

“You’re so crude, Iwa-chan. People can hear you, you know.” Oikawa glances over his shoulder at his roommate, pointing at some students he can see across the quad.

“Why the fuck did you leave?” Hajime roars. “I went looking for you. You told me you’d wait right there!”

“Well, I didn’t want to wait anymore. You were taking too long.”

“Fucking – _really?!_ ”

“Stop swearing, Iwa-chan, we’re in public.”

“Goddammit, would you stop and look at me?!”

“There’s nothing wrong with _your_ knees, Iwa-chan, just keep up already.”

“ _Tooru!_ ”

Oikawa finally slows to a stop, with an impatient huff. Iwaizumi jogs around him, turning to face him head-on. Lets the silence hang for a beat, while he catches his breath. “Tell me what the hell happened.”

“Nothing happened, Iwa-chan.”

“Goddammit. You were so delighted to be there, and now suddenly you’re...” Iwaizumi runs a frustrated hand through his hair, sucking in a breath.

“I’m what, Iwa-chan?” Irritation simmers in Oikawa’s gut. “I’m being a selfish asshole again?”

“I didn’t say that! I just want to understand why you’re acting like this.”

“Well, maybe it doesn’t matter, Iwa-chan. So leave me alone. I _want_ you to just drop it.” He starts walking again, swinging around Iwaizumi.

His roommate falls in beside him. “I won’t. You’re upset. Don’t lie to me.” Oikawa says nothing, and Iwaizumi notices him wincing slightly. “Oi, slow down. You’re moving too fast. You’ll re-injure yourself.”

“Stop telling me what to do.”

“You...” Iwaizumi grabs for Oikawa’s arm, and the setter wrenches it out of his grasp. 

“Don’t touch me,” he growls.

“Why are you trying to pick a fight with me? What will that accomplish?” There’s no response. “Are you angry with me?”

“No.”

“Then why are you trying to be? Do you _want_ me to be mad at you?”

Oikawa says nothing.

“Tooru.”

“You don’t have to pretend to care about me, Hajime. I know what you really think; I’m a selfish asshole. So just fuck off, will you?”

Iwaizumi stops walking. “Tooru. You know I don’t think that, right?”

Oikawa slows to a stop, but he’s not looking at Iwaizumi and not answering, either. 

“I’m not _pretending_ to care about you, because I do.”

“Because you – because we –” The words fail on his tongue, and Oikawa clenches and unclenches a fist. Turns to look. “They think we’re together.”

Hajime gets a chill along his spine. “Who does?”

“Everyone, probably.”

“Tooru.”

“The fucking team.”

Iwaizumi’s eyes narrow. _Now we’re finally getting somewhere._ “You heard someone say something,” he guesses.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It does to you, clearly.” Oikawa says nothing. Iwaizumi moves toward him, with careful steps. “What did they say?”

Oikawa clenches his fists. “They _hate_ me.”

“Tooru...”

“No, it doesn’t matter, Hajime, because they hate me! I heard it.” Oikawa really doesn’t want to cry out here, in public, but it’s looking increasingly like that’s where this is headed. He scrunches up his face, to try to fight the urge off, and feels Hajime take his hands gently in his own. 

“ _Ooooh_ , get a room, you two!” Some random student, just passing by on the wide campus pathway. He laughs loudly, and so does his obnoxious friend. 

Oikawa’s face turns beet red, and he pulls his hands out of Hajime’s so fast. 

“Oi, fuck off!” calls Iwaizumi at the passersby, but Oikawa starts walking quickly away.

Iwaizumi catches up to him. “They’re morons, Tooru, they fucking –” 

“Shut _up_ , Hajime. Let’s just go home.” Oikawa has shut down again, closed off.

And for the rest of the walk, Oikawa doesn’t say anything else. Hajime keeps pace with him easily, stays by his side, but Oikawa may as well be a million miles away. 

~~~

Once they make it through the apartment door, Iwaizumi tries again. 

“Hey,” he starts.

“I’m tired, Iwa-chan.” Oikawa is stacking more invisible unsaid things in the corners, building the walls back up where they had finally started to come down. “I’m going to my room.”

“No, you’re not. We need to ice that knee,” says Hajime, internally begging. _Don’t do this, Tooru._

“Don’t I get a say?”

“Not tonight,” grunts the wing spiker. “You overdid it, so go sit on the couch.”

Oikawa sets his lip in a stubborn line again, and Iwaizumi is sure he is going to protest, but instead the setter turns and walks into the living room.

Iwaizumi tries not to look like he’s hurrying when he goes to grab the ice pack from the freezer and wrap it in a towel. He’s not sure how long Tooru’s fragile compliance will last. It’s got him dancing around unsaid things again, and the air already feels heavier. As much as he fears their future, Hajime has no desire to go backwards. 

Oikawa is sulking on the couch, his arms crossed, looking away from his roommate as he moves into the space. Iwaizumi sits next to him, carefully.

“Give me your knee.”

“I can do it _myself._ ”

“Give me your knee, Tooru.”

“Give me the ice pack.” 

When Hajime doesn’t, Oikawa moves to grab it, and Hajime dodges at the last moment. Oikawa’s eyes widen, then narrow. “Give it, Hajime!” He doesn’t give up, lunging over the couch, nearly into Iwaizumi’s lap. Hajime reacts instinctively, manages to just keep it out of Oikawa’s grasp despite his reach. The setter chokes and splutters out a garbled shout of frustration, and keeps struggling. 

Tooru surprises them both when his fist connects suddenly with Hajime’s jaw. 

The pain that blooms in Iwaizumi’s cheek takes an immediate second place to the stunned realization that Tooru actually _hit_ him. Oikawa retracts at the same moment, pulling his hands and his body back and away on the couch. He looks at Hajime in shock.

There is a long moment of just staring at each other, bated breath.

Then, with a giant shuddering inhale, Oikawa fully dissolves into tears. His chest collapses to his knees, and his large setter’s hands cover his face.

Hajime frets, and is torn. He knows exactly what to do – what he so desperately _wants_ to do – but he doesn’t know what’s _allowed_ , and he just feels stuck. He inches closer, anyway. 

His hand hovers over Oikawa’s heaving shoulders, for a moment, and then he lets it land. “Tooru –”

Oikawa moves. He’s in Hajime’s lap before the wing spiker can do anything more than let him. His face crushes against Hajime’s chest, and his hands grab fistfuls of shirt, and his injured knee bends too far and presses into the couch, and Iwaizumi gives up, or gives in, and just _holds_ him. And holds him and holds him and holds him. 

After a while, Hajime tries to shift them so Tooru can better position his knee, and it means he kind of slides back into the couch, so Tooru slides too – his head lands in the cradle of Iwaizumi’s neck and shoulder, falling against him, as the sobs continue to wrack his long torso. His knee unbends and lengthens out beyond Iwaizumi’s lap. Hajime’s arms have the setter wrapped up, his own cocoon, a safe place to fall apart away from the world. Tooru cries so hard and Hajime lets him, holds him, soothes him with gentle hands.

It takes several long minutes before he starts to calm down.

The sobs slowly get replaced by wet sniffs, and the deep heaving breaths fade into shivers against Hajime’s chest. Iwaizumi has no idea when he started petting Oikawa’s head, but the realization doesn’t stop him. 

When he finds words for Tooru, what comes out is: “This is okay?”

Oikawa’s damp eyelashes graze his neck when he nods. The setter’s arms extend around his roommate’s chest, squeezing him tightly.

The words start flowing from Oikawa, like a quiet faucet murmuring against Iwaizumi’s throat. “It was Akiyama-san, and Fujimori, of all people. Aki-san hates me, Hajime. I mean, I knew it. I wondered. But he said that I’m a _creep_ – that checking in with everyone doesn’t have to be so _personal_. And he’s right, I was stupid to think it would make them like me, Hajime, because they don’t. And Hayako-chan heard it, Hajime, he sounded so _sad_ and it was like he realized that I’m not worth looking up to, because I’m _not_ , I’m a fucking mess. And Fujimori – I really thought he liked me, Hajime, but now I don’t think _any_ of them do. He hates that you’re my favorite spiker. But it’s true, though, Hajime, I toss to you the most because it’s _you_ , and I can’t help it, but he _hates_ me. They all do, they must. I’m so weak and selfish. And they think I’m – they think we – they hate me, Hajime. I’m such a _brat_. And I talk too much, and I’m shallow, they only like me for my sets and my serves, but I fucked those up too, and I fucked up my own knee _again_ because it was easier than missing you – because I _hurt_ you – I said things that I – and you _left_ , and I didn’t get why but I’m stupid, I should have _known_ why. I’m human garbage and no one should ever – no one…” He trails off, voice breaking again.

“Hey,” says Iwaizumi, brow furrowing. “Hey, hey, Tooru.” Cradles him, as a few belated tears fall. “Hey, Tooru, no. Shhh, hey. Look at me.” Finally, Oikawa meets his gaze, sniffing. “I don’t like you talking like that. You can’t say things like that. Is that what you really think of yourself?”

Oikawa palms messily at his face. He wipes his wet hand on his shirt, absently, and Iwaizumi sees the dark spots of moisture bloom on the fabric. “Yeah,” he shrugs.

Iwaizumi frowns deeply.

“But I – Iwa-chan, you insult me all the time,” says Oikawa, confused.

Iwaizumi grunts in shock. “You _believe_ me?”

Oikawa stares. Mumbles, “I mean, it’s all true. I think most of them about myself anyway.”

“Oh my god, Tooru,” says Hajime, and his hands lift from the setter’s body, to drop at his sides. “Oh my god, no.” He finds and grips Oikawa’s shoulders. “I never – I didn’t think you –” His hands slide up, tentatively, to cradle his roommate’s neck and chin. “Most of the time, I insult you so I won’t say something _else_. I insult you to stop myself from – so I wouldn’t – oh _god_.” His hands fall to his sides, again, and a blush creeps over Hajime’s face. 

His voice gets low, quiet. “You’re amazing, Tooru. I’ve always thought so.”

Oikawa pulls away, moving out of Iwaizumi’s lap, but not far, to face him on the couch. “Amazing?” he whispers.

Hajime nods, shifts, still blushing.

“But you’ve never said,” says Oikawa, so many lines creasing his brow. “That… that’s what you think of me. Amazing?” he repeats, incredulous.

Hajime takes a deep breath, letting it sigh out, instead of responding.

Oikawa’s hand goes up, then curls back into his lap. Then rises, and hovers, and finally closes around Iwaizumi’s hand. “Would you tell me why?”

Iwaizumi fights the impulse to pull away, to hide, just as strong as his impulse to melt, to draw Oikawa to him. His hand shakes just a little under Tooru’s. “I can’t take it back,” he says, eyes on his lap, unable to hold the setter’s gaze.

Oikawa takes a breath. “I know.” 

Hajime makes himself look at him, and Oikawa’s brown eyes meet his. They’re deep and warm, like chocolate, and they shine from crying, still rimmed with pink. He looks so unsure, breakable. Hajime can almost watch him doubting himself, can almost hear the voice in Oikawa’s head saying _you don’t deserve to know,_ and it just wounds him.

 _I have years of secrets you deserve to hear, Tooru._ “You want me to tell you?”

Something bright flashes for just a second in Tooru’s gaze, something hopeful. He gives a tiny nod.

Hajime sits back, looks away. Breathes out. Lets his eyes close, and then reopen. 

“Your serve,” he says, because it’s a good place to start. “It’s so powerful, and you worked so hard on it. It’s like – it’s graceful, Tooru, you serve like it’s a dance, and you know every step. It’s thrilling,” he says, gaining momentum. “Your hands, when you set. The way your fingers fan out in the air after the ball leaves them. The way your mouth sets when you get stubborn, even when I know we’re about to fight over something stupid. Your brain, Tooru – you can unravel the weaknesses of any team, even your own. And you can encourage them to get stronger.” He smiles. “The fact that you wanted Kyoutani – _Mad Dog_ to like you, when you met him, and the fact that you actually _got_ him to. The way you take responsibility for your team even when you’re not the captain, because as the setter you feel like you have to be connected to everyone.” Hajime shakes his head, just a little. “Your stupid hair, and how it falls perfectly even when you’re drenched in sweat. The songs you hum when you’re doing chores. The fear and the respect you foster in other people, even people who don’t know you, when _I_ know how often you cry and how frequently you clip your toenails. The year in middle school that you were so obsessed with aliens and space that to this day half your wardrobe has space stuff, even if you grew out of a lot of it.” He chuckles to himself. “The fact that you still call me Iwa-chan, like you need everyone to know that you knew me first and will always know me best. Your smile, when it’s real.” And Hajime’s mouth goes dry, because Oikawa gives him one. “I really love your smile.”

He goes quieter, looking away. “The way you let me take care of you, Tooru, when you let yourself break down. When you finally admit you need help. When you let me in. The way you–” he frowns, and presses on, “– um, the way you kissed me when you were drunk, and how you feel wrapped in my arms.” It’s too much, now, but Hajime can’t stop, not now that he’s finally letting it all out. “I want so badly to protect you from the people who hurt you, even when that’s _you_ , Tooru. To make you okay. To tell you you’re enough.” He can’t look at the setter, even in his periphery, so his eyes fall closed. “How much it’s going to hurt, trying to get over you.” And he stops talking, covers his face, hands rubbing his eyes, because any more words like that will make _him_ cry, and it’s just too much. 

Tooru sits, with his mouth falling open, and stares, because it’s so much more than he ever anticipated. And it doesn’t just wash over him; he drowns in it. The hints over the last couple months, the words he forced out of Hajime with his mistakes and his hubris and his stupidity – _it’s been you for a long time_ and _I liked it_ and _it wasn’t about the game anymore_ – to know now, as Tooru does, that those were glinting tide pools on a vast shore, and just beyond them where Tooru didn’t even let himself look was the endless, beautiful ocean.

_He loves me._

_Oh my god, he LOVES me._

And suddenly, the terror that Oikawa has felt – for _years_ , he realizes with a dull shock – of letting Hajime all the way in, of giving every secret up to him, of showing him the deepest and ugliest parts of himself, of coming undone under his gentle, certain hands – _that_ terror. Tooru decides in an instant that all of it scares him less than the thought of Hajime moving on without him.

And he wonders if he’ll ever be able to feel this way about anyone else in his life. 

Hajime’s wrists are in his hands, now, and Tooru is pulling Hajime’s hands away from his face. He’s moved close to him again, but not enough yet. And Hajime resists, but his hands fall anyway, and when he looks at Tooru’s face, his lip trembles dangerously. 

“Hajime,” says the setter, and his eyes are wet. “Kiss me.”

And Iwaizumi doesn’t understand, doesn’t move, so Tooru’s hands hold his face, and his eyes close.

It’s gentle, the brush of lips, the ghost of a sigh. Hajime pulls back.

“Tooru,” he says, but it’s a question.

“Don’t get over me,” says the setter, “kiss me.” And he draws Hajime’s face back toward his own, catching the incredulous breath that Hajime pulls into his lungs between his lips. This one lingers. 

But Hajime pulls away one more time. “Tooru.”

“My god, Iwa-chan. _Hajime_ , yes.” Tooru lets the wing spiker see deep in his unguarded, bright eyes. “And I’m still really scared, and I am going to fuck this up somehow, but yes.” His thumbs caress Hajime’s cheeks. “You said to be clear. I want _you_. I want to _be_ with you.”

“You want me,” he whispers.

“I _want_ you,” and he kisses those lips again, just to prove it.

“Not just sex,” says Hajime when he pulls away. “Your – your boyfriend, I mean.” 

And Tooru lets his hands slip from Hajime’s face, so he can properly consider. “My _boyfriend._ ” He nods slowly, sliding his hands deliberately into Hajime’s. “Kissing me. Cooking me dinner. Holding my hand. Walking me to practice,” he lists, and the wing spiker starts nodding.

“We can figure out the details as we go,” Hajime says.

“I like that. Yeah,” says Tooru, “yes.” And he smiles, and realizes the bright, buoyant, all-consuming thing filling his chest is joy. His heart thuds erratically, overwhelmed. “But the first thing is kissing me, so do it again,” he commands, and climbs into Hajime’s lap.

Hajime groans, and his hands land on the setter’s hips. Tooru’s tongue slides into his mouth, and his hands stretch up along Tooru’s back, under his shirt. Tooru’s hands are behind his head, in his hair, tilting the wing spiker’s head up to better meet his lips. 

_My boyfriend,_ thinks Hajime, wonderingly. The weight of him feels so good in his lap, and he leans up, pulling his long torso close. 

Hajime is hungry, prowling tongue and grasping fingers. He strays from Tooru’s lips and sucks the skin under his jaw, licking a trail down the sensitive muscles of his throat, nibbling his earlobe. Tooru gasps.

“Yeah?” he breathes against his ear.

“More,” says the setter, pulling on Hajime’s hair. He groans in response.

So Hajime grabs and repositions them horizontally on the couch. Tooru is under him, and Hajime says “we really need to ice your knee,” before he attacks Tooru’s mouth with his own. 

Tooru kisses him back, and he’s surprised by how much he wants this. _Desperately,_ he’s discovering, and it’s so good. His hands leave Hajime’s head to journey over his back, his fingernails dragging over the fabric of his shirt, and settle at Hajime’s hips, pulling him down. Tooru pushes his moan into Hajime’s mouth, and his boyfriend – _boyfriend!_ – grinds against him. They’re both getting hard fast. 

Hajime stops, pulls back, and Tooru gasps a little, wanting him back, already out of breath. 

“The couch is too small,” Hajime pants, “and it’s easy for me to get carried away.” Tooru nods. “Do you want to continue?” Hajime asks.

“Yeah, I do,” says Tooru. It feels a little dirty to admit to it, but really good, too. 

“You have to tell me everything that you want,” says Hajime, and licks his lips. Oikawa’s eyes follow his tongue. “Or I won’t do it.”

“I still want you,” breathes Tooru. “On my bed?”

Hajime nods. “On your bed.”

The wing spiker stands, grabbing Tooru’s hand and pulling him upright and into his arms. He draws him in for just one kiss, and drags Tooru’s bottom lip between his teeth. “No mistakes and no regrets,” Hajime purrs, a warning and a promise.

Tooru shivers, and has no desire to flee.

In Tooru’s bedroom, Hajime walks him backwards to the bed, and shoves him gently down onto it. “We’re here,” he says, and looks at the setter’s kiss-swollen lips. Slides his palm over a warm cheek, his fingertips wandering into Tooru’s hair. “What now?”

“Take off your shirt,” says Tooru, his hands already slipping underneath it, near his navel. “I want to touch you.”

Iwaizumi obeys, and Oikawa sighs, losing himself, tracing the muscles of his abs. His fingers curl around Hajime’s sides, and venture up over his ribs, before sliding back down. He presses a kiss to the skin of Hajime’s belly. “So hot,” he marvels, “so good.” 

Hajime feels the color flood his cheeks, and he twitches in his pants. 

“You can touch me, Iwa-chan,” Tooru teases, and his thumb circles a nipple. Hajime takes a stuttering breath that turns into a moan. 

He reaches for Oikawa’s free hand, and plants feather-light kisses on the skin of his palm, the muscle of his thumb. _I utterly adore you,_ he thinks, but has not been given permission to say. 

Iwaizumi bites the skin at Tooru’s wrist when the setter licks his other nipple, grunting quietly and stuttering his hips. “I like that, Hajime,” says Tooru, wonderingly, “I like your noises, too.” He licks again, watching Hajime’s face. “Don’t hold back.”

“I want you so much,” says the wing spiker, from behind Oikawa’s hand. He sucks one of his long fingers into his mouth, and Tooru groans with surprise. 

“Okay, yeah…” says Oikawa breathlessly, “come here.” He scoots back toward the headboard, and Hajime releases Tooru’s hand and follows him onto the bed.

Tooru pulls Hajime into a kiss, the rhythm slower than before, but with a steady fire underneath it. Hajime is using one hand to keep himself upright, but the other begins roaming, grasping at Tooru’s waist, traveling under his shirt and over his hip, gripping his thigh. 

“I need these clothes gone,” says Tooru, almost to himself, between molten kisses. The pads of his fingers scratch would-be lines into the flesh of Hajime’s back.

“As you wish,” whispers Iwaizumi into his mouth, and with one more kiss, he shifts, straddling Oikawa. His hands grasp the setter at his thin waist, and drag the fabric of Oikawa’s shirt up, and over his head, with just a little bit of awkwardness. He kisses down Oikawa’s now-bare chest, and his fingers drop to the waistband of Tooru’s jeans. Raising one eyebrow at the setter, he undoes the fastens and pulls them off, discarding them somewhere behind him.

“You’re so good to me,” whines Tooru, reaching for him. “Come here.”

They crush together, with more urgency, and their kisses and caresses turn messy and ravenous. “I want you,” says Tooru, panting, “I want your hands and your lips everywhere.” Hajime plunders his nipples with his tongue, and Tooru’s hips start to grind against him with a rhythm. “I’m so _hard_ for you,” he groans.

Grabbing his chin in one hand, Hajime kisses the setter firmly, sucking his lip into his mouth. He pulls back. “Tell me exactly what you want,” he says, voice rough with his own lust.

Tooru’s pupils are blown wide, and he’s flushed and panting and _glorious_. He bites his lip. “Would you suck me, if I asked?”

“Are you asking?” Iwaizumi’s eyebrow dares him.

“Yeah,” breathes the setter, and he feels dirty, again. Heat bubbles low in his abdomen. “I want you to want it,” he admits.

Iwaizumi smirks a crooked smile at him, and drags his hand down to grab Oikawa by his hard, warm length through the thin fabric of his underwear. The setter jerks and moans, throwing his head back. 

“I have been dreaming of this and fantasizing about it for longer than you know,” says Hajime, breathing a contented sigh. “Of course I want it, Tooru.”

“ _Uhhnnngh_ … Then _please,_ ” Tooru whines.

Hajime carefully pulls his underwear down and off, but he has to navigate around the brace to do it. “Cannot forget to ice this,” he mutters, and once the underwear are removed, he lifts Oikawa’s injured knee gently. He places a few soft kisses on the skin surrounding, on his shin and on his thigh, and Tooru is reminded with a rush of feeling how deeply Hajime cares for him. It already doesn’t scare him as much as he thought it would. 

Then Hajime sets the knee up on his shoulder, and looks at Tooru wickedly. “Gotta elevate it,” he purrs, and spits into his hand. 

His fingers close around Oikawa’s hot length, and the setter moans and shivers. He pumps his fingers just a few times, and then closes his mouth over the head.

“ _Ohhhhh_ my god,” Tooru groans, throatily. He gasps when Iwaizumi tongues the slit, and then pushes him further in to the enveloping heat of his mouth. Hajime pulls a long suck over as much of Tooru as he can, and Tooru swears loudly at the ceiling. “H-Hajime,” pants Tooru, groaning again. Hajime swirls his tongue over the head with quick, wide strokes. He pulls off the sensitive head with a _pop_ and pumps some longer strokes down the length, coating as much of him in saliva as possible.

“That feels f-fucking amazing, Ha-Hajime,” says Tooru, reaching a large hand into his hair. His hips buck up a little into the wing spiker’s hand. 

“Tell me what you want,” he reminds Tooru, watching him. 

“S-suck me, and stroke my – oh _god_ yes...”

Hajime starts rhythmically stroking the base of him while his agile tongue lavishes attention on the sensitive crown. Tooru’s fingers in his hair start to grab and pull, which is hot as fuck. Hajime’s own dick is so hard inside the couple of layers he still wears, and even though Tooru didn’t give him permission, he uses his other hand to palm himself roughly, just a little reprieve. That alone makes him moan around Tooru’s length, and speed up just a little.

“Hahh, ahhhh, _fuuuuuck_ , Hajime, yes… I’m getting s-so c-close – hum around me again, j-just like that...” The setter is flushed and writhing, nearly, really close now. His pants and moans get higher and more desperate. “Hajime, I want to come,” he whines, “ _pleeeease!_ ”

With one more intense suck, Hajime pulls off of him, stroking fast and tight. “Come for me, baby,” moans Hajime, “come just for me, Tooru, let me hear you.”

“Agghhhhh, _ohhhh_ , yes! _Fuuuuuuuuuck_ –” The fingers on Hajime’s head skew wildly and twitch, his other hand clenched tight in the bedsheets as his orgasm crashes over its peak. Tooru pants and whines in shudders, while Hajime’s earnest fingers take him through the waves of pleasure, coating his whole hand in spurts of pearly white. 

He looks so breathtaking, tangled up and overcome and blissful like this, that Hajime forgets he’s still pumping until Tooru’s whole body jerks from oversensitivity. “Hah – Hah – _Hajime_ , st-stop, ohhh!”

The wing spiker releases him immediately. “ _Shit_ , I’m sorry – Tooru, I’m sorry,” Hajime pants, still feeling so aroused, looking at his boyfriend with wide apologetic eyes.

“Shh, shh, it’s okay, Hajime, it’s okay, that was incredible, come here...” and he reaches for him, so Hajime surges up into a kiss, and his own neglected length rubs a few needy, tented circles against the setter’s long body. 

“Oh, fuck, Hajime, you’re so hard...” breathes Tooru wonderingly. He reaches for his own discarded shirt, and pushes it into Hajime’s cum-covered hand. “For the mess,” he says, and looks down at Hajime’s jeans. “I want to help you... baby.” The word is new and awkward on his tongue, and he’s not sure if he likes it yet, but Hajime laughs, a sudden sharp rush of air from his mouth, and kisses him again. 

“Yeah, I want that. Can you use your hand, Tooru? I’m already pretty close,” he pants, and Tooru nods with enthusiasm.

They both fumble with the button on Iwaizumi’s jeans, and in the end he kicks off both his jeans and underwear into a crumpled pile somewhere. Tooru licks his hand hastily, and wraps his large setter fingers around Hajime’s hot length, pumping over him.

Right away, Hajime is groaning and breathing hard. “So good, Tooru, oh _fuck_ ,” he moans. 

“Yeah, you like it?” His eyes take in Hajime’s flushed face, his blown pupils, his heavy eyelids, his swollen lips. “You look fucking incredible,” he breathes.

“You feel so good, Tooru… unnngh –”

“Tell me, baby,” he purrs – _(that was so much better, okay, ‘baby’ works after all)_ – and rubs his thumb over the head, already slick with precum.

“Oh _fuuuck!_ You drive me crazy, Tooru,” he whines, “and I want you so bad. I wanted you for so _long_...” His hand grabs for Tooru’s other hand, and it’s not perfect, but he slides it into his own as well as he can, squeezing. “And you’re everything I want, you’re so fucking – _unhhh_ , god. All those girls, Tooru, but you’re mine, you’re – oh, _fuck_ , faster, Tooru...” He swallows hard. “I’m so close, baby, _please_...”

Tooru cannot take his eyes off of him. He knows what he’s watching is powerfully vulnerable and intimate, but it’s still somehow insanely hot. He’s captivated. “Yeah, Hajime, come for me. I want you to say my name...”

“Tooru, _fuuuck_ , Tooru, T-Tooru…!” Hajime’s hips buck into his hand, and with an energetic gush and loud groan, his boyfriend spills over onto his hand, some of it landing on Hajime’s stomach. He twitches and stutters his hips in Tooru’s grasp, riding it out, until they both finally slow, winding down, boneless and blissful.

Tooru leans over and kisses Hajime’s lips, lazily. “Yeah?” he asks.

“ _Fuck,_ Tooru. Yes.” And kisses him again, with certainty, before falling back on the bed. Hajime grabs for the soiled shirt, and uses it to wipe himself off. Offers it to Tooru, who cleans his hand as well as he can. The setter drops the garment onto the floor, and lays back. They’re both quiet for a long moment. 

“Hey, um,” says Hajime, and Tooru turns to him. “This is okay, still, right?” His eyes are careful, and his hand comes up to trace gently over Tooru’s collarbone. Tooru’s hand settles comfortably on his forearm. “You’re really not scared of being with me?”

Tooru lets himself take stock, for a second, for a breath. His thumb sweeps gently over the skin of Hajime’s wrist, and he lets the movement draw his eyes. “I’m scared I’ll do something wrong,” he confesses, quietly. “But I still want you. And I think...” He trails off.

“Tell me,” says Hajime, gently, shifting to lay on Tooru, somewhat, warm tingly naked skin connected to his own. Almost a cuddle.

Tooru smiles, and his other hand comes around to trace lazy, aimless circles over the bronze expanse of Hajime’s back. “I think I just didn’t want to like you as much as I do. I think I called it _friendship_ because that seemed like the thing we were supposed to be, but we’ve almost always been more, Iwa-chan. And I just… didn’t know how to deal with the truth.” He looks at Hajime, whose lips crinkle into a soft smile. 

“It makes sense,” murmurs the wing spiker, pressing a kiss on Tooru’s shoulder. 

Tooru frowns. “I still feel stupid, Hajime.” He shakes his head. “You quit the team because of me. You had _panic attacks_. You tried to tell me, but I couldn’t hear it.”

“It’s okay, Tooru,” says Hajime, wrapping an arm around him, pulling him closer. Plants three more kisses on the nearest skin. “It happened, but we’re here now. We’re together, and we’ll figure it out one day at a time.”

“Yeah,” breathes the setter, and a tentative smile takes his face. Then fades. “I broke too, because of you. In a way.”

“Your knee?” asks Hajime, pulling Tooru’s hand to his lips. 

Tooru hums an affirmation, with a small nod. “You weren’t in the apartment anymore, and I couldn’t stand the _quiet_. It was so empty, all the time, and I felt restless, so I just escaped.” He takes a breath, remembering. “I did so many setter drills, Hajime. Like my brain thought that if I could just _perfect_ my tosses, you’d be there to spike them again.” He frowns. Goes quiet, but he needs to tell the rest. “And then one night, I fell.”

Hajime leans over, and kisses the crease in Tooru’s forehead, the tightness near his eye, and the corner of his mouth where a smile finally grows on his face. “I’m here,” he says, and kisses Tooru’s lips. “I’ll stay, Tooru.”

“Baby...” whispers the setter, and decides he likes that pet name a lot, actually. He pulls Hajime in, getting more of his warm, delightful, naked body in contact with his own. Claims his lips, with a greedy sincerity, licking into that fantastic mouth, pushing a sigh out between them.

He breaks the kiss, because he has to be sure. “You’ll stay here? In this apartment?” 

_No more expiration date,_ thinks Hajime. “If you still want me to.”

“I do,” says Tooru. “Live with me. Stay with me.”

Hajime nods. “I will.” Kisses his boyfriend, with enthusiasm. “But we can’t stay here. In bed, I mean.”

“I want you again, Hajime. And you’re so warm. Why not?”

“We haven’t eaten.”

“Oh.” Tooru grins. “Yeah.”

“And I need to ice your knee.” Hajime sits up. “Will you finally let me?” he asks, a little playfully.

“No,” says Tooru. He’s serious. 

Hajime stops, shoots him a confused look. “Tooru...”

“I want my _boyfriend_ to do it,” breathes the setter, exploding with merriment.

“Shittykawa,” he says, relieved, poking Tooru in the ribs.

~~~

Just a few more things to tell.

Hajime abandons, happily, his search for a new apartment. But he bookmarks a couple of the listings in his computer, just to save for the future, just in case. Because Hajime always falls asleep holding Tooru now, and Tooru holds him just as close, and they rediscover all the forgotten joys of cuddling, except with so many more orgasms in between. So an apartment with two separate bedrooms isn’t really as _necessary_ , now. They’ll talk about it, when the time is right. Hajime doesn’t really fear them not talking, anymore.

Tooru asks Hajime to teach him how to cook, but Hajime never thought he was that great at it to begin with. So they both work to get better at it, and dinner together becomes a constant in their lives.

They go back to visit their families for New Year’s, traveling together. Hajime decides it’s time to come out to his family, because it’s been years overdue, if he’s honest. But being back there, he’s suddenly nervous and fidgets and can’t find the words, even though Tooru is with him, so Tooru drags the wing spiker to _his_ parents’ place and comes out to them, first. Introduces Hajime as his boyfriend, and Hajime gets to watch Tooru’s mother’s smile bloom, and lose a lot of the worried tightness around her eyes, because she’s truly happy at her son’s choice. So Hajime does find the words for his own parents, too, in the end.

They both start therapy, individually, because life remains messy and unpredictable, even now that they’re together. It’s a good step to take. Some of Tooru’s spiralling thoughts and some of Hajime’s breath-stealing anxieties are still there, but admitting to them and talking through them makes the daily battles so much less daunting. And the invisible unsaid things slowly but surely get pulled out of the corners, and into the light, and they deal with them together.

Hajime and Tooru go to watch the team’s tournament together in January, while Tooru moves closer on his journey to recovery, and Iwaizumi decides he’ll rejoin the team when Oikawa is allowed to play again, to motivate him. Tooru immediately nags Hajime about a training regimen so he won’t be behind, and Hajime teaches Tooru about how much is enough, and they bicker about it constantly, but make up for it with sex, and rest.

Dr. Takezawa is pleased enough with Tooru’s progress by early spring to let him play again, and Hajime comes along not only because Tooru’s recovery is a huge point of pride, but to ask the doctor about their internship policy. She gives him a wry smile, and some paperwork. 

Hajime and Tooru each continue learning what they like, and what they want, and the things they need, and how to ask for all of them with enthusiasm and trust. Some internet research helps them learn about the prostate, and fingering, and, for Hajime’s birthday, anal sex. It’s a _very_ good birthday, for both of them.

But before that, the boys return to the team, and become the star duo all over again. Aki-san is happier hitting, so he keeps his grumbles to himself, and Hayako promises Oikawa that he will shut down any negative remarks he hears when Oikawa isn’t there to hear them, because they’re on the same team, after all. Hajime tells Hayako he has the makings of a future captain. 

And on the morning of their first game after both of them return to the team, they have to wake up early, so Hajime makes them both coffee, and surprises Tooru with a trendy new gym bag, just because. 

And Tooru goes to say ‘thank you’, but it comes out “I love you,” and he freezes, in the kitchen.

“Um,” he says, nervous, face turning red.

“Tooru,” says Hajime, smiling, “it’s okay.” 

“Hajime, I –”

The wing spiker shakes his head, and catches Tooru in his arms. “I’m happy you said it, but you don’t have to mean it. Not if you’re not ready.” He kisses his boyfriend’s lips, and reaches for the to-go mugs for their coffee.

A small realization. “But baby,” asks Tooru, “you’re ready, aren’t you? You would mean it.”

“I would,” says Hajime, hesitantly.

“You haven’t said it to me, though.”

“… I haven’t.” He turns to face to his boyfriend.

Tooru studies him for a moment. “You’re waiting for me,” he says. “Until I mean it.”

And Hajime admits, “I didn’t want to freak you out.” He smiles apologetically. “But it’s really okay, I won’t say it yet.”

The setter looks down at the bag, then back at Hajime. “How long have you wanted to?” he asks.

“...What?”

“Since New Year’s?” he guesses. “Since my knee?” He’s genuinely curious.

Hajime blushes, bright red. “Um. Longer.”

“Longer?” Tooru’s eyes are wide, but Hajime sees only delight, and a little bit of wonder. 

“Since high school,” he mumbles.

Tooru jumps, elated. “Since _high school?!_ Baby...” And his arms wrap around Hajime fiercely, kissing him breathless. “I love you. I mean it. I love you,” he says, and his eyes are so bright. “I love you, Hajime.” Another dizzying kiss.

“I’m _so_ in love with you, Tooru,” is the fervent reply.

“Oh my _god_ , Hajime, yes. I love you. I love you!”

“I love you too. I love you _so much_.”

“I could cry, Hajime. I’m so happy.”

“You can’t! We have to leave,” Hajime laughs. He kisses him one more time. “The game,” he says. 

“Oh, god! Let’s go.” Tooru kneels to grab his things, shoving them into the new bag. Glances at Hajime again, with a grin. “I love you,” he says, because it feels so good to say it.

“Save it for the court,” says his boyfriend, leaning down to whisper in Tooru’s ear, “and tell me a million times tonight.”

Tooru shivers, and the joy in him is like a vast ocean, ceaseless and sparkling in the sun. 

They leave together, hand in hand, for their first game since last year. 

_I love you so much,_ they both think, at the same time.

~~~~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I MADE SO MANY WORDS, FRIENDS! But I’m really pleased with how this turned out. :D 
> 
> (The fact that I managed to unironically contain, within the same space of <30K words, the phrase “the joy in him is like a vast ocean, ceaseless and sparkling in the sun” alongside “you put my dick in your mouth” just… hit me like a TRAIN. I could not breathe for five whole minutes, I was laughing at myself so hard.) XD
> 
> Thank you all SO MUCH for reading and sticking with this! As ever, I _adore_ your comments, so please do leave me one! <3 <3 <3
> 
> [Hey you - yes, you, reader who finished this months or years after it was posted - I still exist, and if you liked it, I'd still love a comment! It's not weird, I promise. Thanks so much, btw!!]


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